


Braingate

by Bladelover (Pseudolicious)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudolicious/pseuds/Bladelover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McKay and Zelenka answer the questions no one has ever asked, and it's the same answer for all of them: the Stargate did it to us. The recommended course of action results in funny hats, paradigm paranoia, hairstyle adjustments, fun with speech patterns, and Rodney's personal phobias threatening the entire city. Pretty much in that order. Either nothing will ever be the same again, or everything will be exactly the same and all this lunacy will have been for nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Popcorn and Sharpies

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not new to the fandom, only to AO3. And this is my first SGA story in quite some time, a response to a one-word writing prompt (believe it or not, the prompt was "colander.") I hope you enjoy it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is making Rodney and Radek play nicely. It doesn't go as planned.

“This is completely ridiculous,” Rodney McKay said, seated on a couch and clutching a large white bowl. It was at least the third time he’d said it, this time less distinctly because his mouth was full of popcorn. “I’m a busy and vitally important man, and I should not be expected to waste time watching a hokey old monster movie when I could be doing work that will save this city from _actual_ monsters. And Zelenka could be assisting in that effort.”

“Yes,” Radek Zelenka muttered darkly, arms folded. He was also sitting on the couch, but had chosen the furthest position from McKay possible. “I could be _working_ with an actual monster.” 

“Oh, please,” McKay said, his face contorted into a nasty smile. “You love to complain, but deep down you know you’ve never done truly noteworthy work without me.”

Radek turned his head slowly toward the other scientist. “Excuse me?”

Shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth, McKay said, “Face it, Radek. The best work of your life has been done here in Atlantis, under my supervision. Not that you’re not a perfectly competent, even somewhat talented scientist in your own right, but you’re most definitely the moon to my sun.”

Radek scowled. McKay took this for confusion rather than anger.

“Reflecting my light rather than generating your own,” McKay explained helpfully.

Radek’s response involved a rundown, in Czech, of McKay’s numerous shortcomings and their roots in likely multi-species lineage.

“You see what he does?” McKay demanded. “He can’t refute an unpleasant truth factually, so he resorts to cursing me in a foreign language I can’t understand.”

All self-restraint evaporating, Radek decided to hit McKay where it would hurt most and lunged for the popcorn bowl. A tug of war ensued, cut short when a third pair of hands descended to yank the bowl away from both of them. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard held it aloft and fixed them both with a stern look, unaware that the effect was somewhat diluted by the artfully mussed hair.

“First of all,” Sheppard drawled, “it’s not some ‘hokey monster movie,’ it’s _Dawn of the Dead_ , which is a classic. Second of all, the whole point of this little time-out is to get you both _away_ from work for a while. Your bickering has gotten out of control lately, and it’s affecting the performance of the whole science division. Elizabeth thinks you guys need a little downtime, and since you won’t kick back voluntarily, she’s forcing the issue.”

“Okay, fine,” McKay broke in, “I grant that maybe that makes some sense, but why can’t we each just do our own thing, recreationally speaking? I mean, it’s pretty counter-intuitive to punish us for fighting at work by forcing us to spend our leisure time together!”

“Rodney, this is not a punishment,” Sheppard insisted.

Radek snorted. “I have a dictionary in my quarters.”

Sheppard took a deep breath. Radek sensed he was tempted to give up and let them go, but persisting only because he didn’t want to admit failure to Dr. Weir. “It may feel like a punishment, but the idea is to get you two to find a way to relate to each other like civilized adults.”

“Oh, well, that’s less than compelling,”McKay said, “coming from a man who sleeps in a bed clearly meant for a child.” At Sheppard’s look of confusion, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve never noticed that your bed is a foot too short for you? And it’s not like you’re unusually tall or anything.”

Radek frowned at Sheppard. “That’s true. Why would you choose quarters with a tiny bed? We all had the opportunity to–“

“Look,” Sheppard said, clearly losing patience, “Let’s stay on topic here. Now, if it was up to me, I’d let you go your separate ways. Get some distance between you, unwind in peace, and come back to work together in a reasonable manner again.”

“Again?” Radek said. “I’m still waiting for a first occurrence of this.”

“Oh, like you’re just a charming and delightful–“

“But it’s not up to me,” Sheppard continued, talking over McKay’s attempted comeback. “I’m not the head of this expedition.”

“No,” McKay said, “you’re just her henchman.”

“I prefer ‘enforcer.’ Elizabeth thinks that doing something together that’s not work-related will make you appreciate one another as people, or something. So for the next two hours, you guys can sit here and be civil to each other, or you can ignore each other completely, but either way, you’re gonna share this space. And,” he added, handing the bowl to Radek, “you’re gonna share the popcorn.”

Radek stared at Sheppard for a moment before taking a long, deep breath and letting it out in an eloquent sigh. Overt resistance was clearly pointless. But perhaps McKay would fall asleep during the movie. Slipping a hand into his pants pocket, Radek fingered a black Sharpie and smiled minutely. There was a chance that fun could be had, under the right circumstances.

He popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth, looked pointedly at McKay, and set the bowl exactly halfway between them on the center cushion of the couch. Sheppard waited until McKay rolled his eyes and grabbed a modest handful of popcorn before he hit “play” on the DVD player and sprawled onto a chair himself.

 

 


	2. Aim Higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that thing they should be doing to kill the wraith? Yeah, they totally aren't doing it.

John walked into the conference room a bit late for a routine meeting of the senior staff and slowed in surprise. He had expected to find Dr. Elizabeth Weir, head of the Atlantis expedition, McKay, and Dr. Carson Beckett, head of medicine.  He had _not_ expected for Zelenka to be in attendance, nor the other two members of John’s off-world gate team, Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex. He wasn’t up for surprises this morning, having just spent two hours scrubbing at the tiny pencil mustache someone had drawn in Sharpie on his upper lip. It was still faintly visible, if anyone looked closely enough, and the area under his nose was red.

John looked at Weir. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she said, smiling tightly, “but I’ve been assured that it’s earth-shattering.”

“I never used the term ‘earth-shattering,’” McKay protested, “in part because we are not on Earth. Which, now that I think of it, raises another question, doesn’t it?”

“Why haven’t we ever given this planet a name?” Zelenka said.

“Bingo!” McKay agreed with a slight smile, pointing.  

John noted that there was no trace of the extreme rancor of the previous evening. Apparently, Elizabeth’s prescription had been more successful than he’d expected. Or maybe a bit of strategic artwork had done the trick. He rubbed at his upper lip, until he realized what he was doing and put his hand on the table.

McKay was looking around the room expectantly. After a brief pause, Weir said, “That’s the earth-shattering item? That we haven’t named this planet?”

“Well, of course not! That’s just the– It’s an illustration of–”

“We should go back–” Zelenka said.

“Yes, yes, yes. I forgot to give the background.”

Dropping into a chair, John said, “I think you forgot the foreground, too.”

Smirking, McKay said stroked his upper lip briefly and said, “I’ll assume your bad mood is a product of the skin irritation you seem to be experiencing today. Which is ironic, because I owe this entire discovery–”

“ _We_ owe this entire discovery–“ Zelenka broke in mildly.

“Yes, yes, fine. _We_ owe it all to you, Colonel.” McKay beamed triumphantly.

Blinking, John glanced around the room. “Is anybody else feeling out of the loop here, or is he just loopy?”

“Rodney,” Beckett said with long-suffering patience, “perhaps you could just tell us about your discovery, instead of endlessly teasing it?”

Heaving a put-upon sigh, McKay said, “Fine. Let’s start with a question: In our ongoing life-and-death struggle with the wraith, would you all say that we have pretty much tried everything possible to beat them?”

John looked at Weir, who looked just as nonplussed as he felt. She held up her hands. “I think so. Maybe not everything _possible_ , but certainly–“

“Everything we could think of,” John finished.

Weir nodded. “Yes.”

McKay snapped his fingers five or six times in quick succession. “Key words: _Everything we could think of._ ” When neither Weir nor John seemed to get the point, he elaborated. “Okay, think back to the day we first encountered the wraith. What did we learn when we tried to kill them?”

John was tempted to point out that McKay was making mighty liberal use of the word “we,” given that he hadn’t even been physically present for the expedition’s initial encounters with the wraith, but decided to let it go. “They suck out human life with their hands, and they heal from wounds really, really fast.”

“Exactly,” McKay said. “And what does that healing ability mean, in terms of our ability to kill them?”

“Means we gotta shoot ‘em a lot,” Ronon said impatiently. John had the impression the dreadlocked Satedan was giving McKay about two more minutes to make the meeting worth his while before he abandoned the conference room. If it came to that, maybe John could slip out with him.

“Right! And where, exactly, do we all shoot them?”

There were puzzled frowns all around the table. “Wherever we find them,” Teyla offered. She shot John a raised eyebrow that demanded to know if McKay might be suffering some sort of mental breakdown. John shrugged in reply.

“No-no-no-no-no,” McKay said in his rapid-fire way. “Where on their _bodies_ do we shoot them?”

“All over,” John said, shrugging. “Anywhere we can hit them.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Colonel. We tend to shoot them in the torso, over and over and over, or in the leg, the arm, the shoulder–”

“Everywhere but the head,” Zelenka broke in.

“I was getting to that!”

“You’re taking too long. They are losing patience.”

“Well, I can’t help if they have short attention spans.”

“Wait a minute,” John interrupted. “Of course we’ve shot them in the head! Lots of times.”

“Really?” McKay said instantly. “And what happened when you did that?”

John opened his mouth to answer and found his mind blank. He honestly couldn’t call up a memory of what happened after he’d taken a headshot against a wraith.

“And there it is!” McKay crowed. “Know why you can’t remember? It’s because–”

“Because you’ve never shot a wraith in the head,” Zelenka broke in. “As far as we can tell, no one in Atlantis has.”

“And we know that because we did a search of all the mission logs last night,” McKay added.

Weir finally jumped in. “You searched all the mission logs last night for mentions of wraith kills?”

“No,” McKay said, as though she’d asked something unexpectedly stupid. “We searched for mentions of _attempted_ wraith kills, regardless of whether they succeeded.”

“You searched two and a half years of mission logs last night.”

McKay looked at her in puzzlement, glancing at Zelenka, who looked equally baffled. “Yes…?”

Weir took a deep, calming breath. “It’s just that you both had orders to take last night off.” She glanced with emphasis at John. He sought refuge in deepening his slouch.

McKay waved a hand. “Oh, that. Believe me, we served our time. Sheppard made us watch a movie together on pain of… some unspecified greater punishment. But as it turned out, the movie was the catalyst for our brainstorm. We–”

“So you _did_ take last night off,” Weir sought to clarify.

McKay sighed impatiently. “We took last night off until something important came up, which I’m trying trying very hard to tell you about if I can stop being interrupted.”

“I’m simply trying to understand why Colonel Sheppard allowed you both to work, when my explicit instructions were–”

“He didn’t _allow_ anything,” McKay said. “He didn’t even know about it. And this wasn’t work. It was work we came up with on our own time, so that makes it leisure.”

“Yes,” Zelenka agreed. “This is our fun. And the colonel cannot control what happens when he is asleep.”

Weir frowned. Oh, shit. “Asleep?”

“I may have dozed off for a few minutes,” John allowed.

Laughing, McKay said, “Yeah, if you call falling into a coma twenty minutes into the movie ‘dozing off.’ But seriously, Elizabeth, you’re losing the plot here.”

John watched Weir take a deep breath. She didn’t make it obvious; he just knew what to look for. She definitely did the subtlest slow burn of anyone he had ever met. “I’m very sorry, Rodney. Please tell us more about how you spent your mandatory night off reading the past two and a half years’ worth of mission logs.”

The scientists chuckled in a manner that implied that non-scientists were so cute when they tried to reason things for themselves. McKay began, “Well, actually, I wrote an algorithm–”

“ _I_ wrote an algorithm–”

“We _collaborated_ on an algorithm that did all the searching for us and compiled the results in easily-perusable list format.”

“Analyzing the results took comparatively little time,” Zelenka confirmed. “The time-consuming part was using the data to–”

“Using the data to flesh out our theory,” McKay finished. “Which is where Sheppard’s movie came in.”

Weir rubbed at her forehead delicately. Yes, definitely the best slow burn. Sort of a masterpiece, really. “The movie.”

“Yes. In fact, it was the catalyst for our whole brainstorm. We–”

Zelenka cut in. “In the film, the characters can only successfully defend against the zombies by–”

“By attacking the head,” McKay said. “It was the only sure-fire way to take them down. So then, it occurred to us–”

“Maybe it is same way with the wraith. But Rodney couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone from Atlantis aim for a wraith’s head.”

“Or aiming for the head myself,” McKay added. At Zelenka’s snort, he demanded, “What?”

“You’ve never actually hit a wraith in a firefight,” Ronon said, smirking.

“We don’t know that, for sure,” McKay said weakly. Recovering, he waved his hands. “Anyway, the point is, we started asking ourselves, why? It seems completely illogical to face life-sucking aliens with super healing powers and not aim for the head. I mean, that’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? No pun intended.”

“I still don’t buy that we never take headshots,” John said. He sounded a little defensive, even to himself.

“Neither do I,” Ronon said. “I’ve killed tons of wraith, and I’m sure I’ve taken some headshots.”

“Well, if you do take them,” McKay said, “they are probably entirely incidental and not consciously planned.”

Ronon simply stared with a slight smile that could equally be contemplation of what to have for lunch or calculating how quickly he could cross the table to break McKay’s neck. John adjusted his slouch, anticipating an intervention.

“The question is,” Zelenka said mildly, “do you have any actual memories of aiming for the head?”

Everyone looked at Ronon. His expression gradually darkened and he said nothing.

“Rodney,” Beckett said, “I still don’t know what you’re getting at. Fighting wraith is a fast-paced business. People are probably taking the shots that come most easily. If they aren’t aiming for the head, maybe it’s because the opportunities just don’t come up.”

“Oh, sure, that’s statistically likely! Hundreds of people, having dozens of combat experiences with the number one threat to human existence in the galaxy, and none of them ever gets a chance to aim for the head,” McKay said, spraying sarcasm like spittle. “Yes, I’m positive that is happening by coincidence and _not_ because some external force is acting on our thought processes universally.”

There was a moment of silence before Teyla asked, “You are saying that someone is controlling our behavior?”

McKay looked taken aback. “Well, technically, the stargate is a some _thing_ , not a some _one_ , but…”

Elizabeth gaped at him. “The stargate?”

“Yeah, didn’t I mention that already? Sorry, yes, we think gate travel does something subtle but important to the way we think and reason.”

“Specifically,” Zelenka said, “we think it influences brain activity to control the choices we believe are available to us.”

John stared at them both. “You think the stargate tells us not to shoot wraith in the head. Seriously.”

“No, not in so many words,” McKay explained. “We think the effect is far more generalized, that it merely… fosters a mindset.”

Nodding quickly, Zelenka added, “It doesn’t change your intentions, only limits your perceived options for achieving them.”

“And limits the kinds of questions that occur to you,” McKay said. “You’ve heard of thinking outside the box? Well, gate travel creates that box. At least, we think it does.”

“Hold on,” Elizabeth said. “Are you saying that someone is using the stargate to control our actions?”

“Possibly? Although it could just be a natural consequence of wormhole travel, or some kind of radiation from the stargate machinery. We really don’t know. Yet.”

“Wait a minute,” John said, leaning toward Rodney without actually straightening his spine. “I _do_ remember a headshot. Ford shot a drone in the back of the head the first day we got here, when I was being interrogated by the wraith queen on that hive ship. Dropped it like a stone.”

“And yet, you never mentioned that incident,” Rodney said, as though he’d just won the argument, “and never made a point of instructing us to shoot for the head in any of our subsequent wraith encounters. I think you’re proving my point here.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he waited for someone else to leap in to tell Rodney how wrong he was. When no one did, John rolled his eyes, just as a placeholder for his continued rejection of the theory.

“It’s still quite a leap,” Beckett said, “to assume that there are mind-altering forces at work simply because we aren’t taking headshots in wraith skirmishes.”

“I would agree with that,” McKay said, “if we were only talking about the headshots. But there’s a whole host of other things that we should have questioned by now, and we haven’t.”

“Such as?” Weir asked.

“Such as why the hell everybody in the Pegasus galaxy speaks English, for one,” McKay said. “The odds against that are beyond astronomical, and yet, has anyone here ever given it a thought?”

John exchanged looks with Weir and the others. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for it,” he said lamely.

“No doubt,” Zelenka said. “But has the question even occurred to you before this moment?”

There was a brief pause, broken by Weir. “Well, I’m sure that I… I mean...” She sighed with apparent embarrassment. “No, I don’t think it has.”

Beckett shifted in his seat. “Isn’t it possible that the stargate does something to our brains to make it possible for people to understand each other’s languages?”

“Maybe, but that’s really not the… Although, if that’s the case, why doesn’t it also translate written languages, like Ancient and Wraith?” McKay asked. “We had to learn those the old-fashioned way.”

“Because it only works on speech,” John hazarded.

“But Ronon and Teyla were both able to read written English without training,” Zelenka said.

Teyla’s eyes widened. “He is right. I have always been able to read your written language. And I did not even question it.”

McKay snapped his fingers again. “That’s another thing. How come Teyla never uses contractions, like, ever? But Ronon speaks perfect idiomatic American English! Has anyone even _thought_ about that until now?”

Ronon leaned closer to Teyla. “Did he just call me an idiot?”

“I do not think so,” Teyla answered, frowning distractedly.

John rubbed at his upper lip and slouched a little harder.


	3. Oh, THAT Coma Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like they might be in more danger than they thought. Or didn't think. Or something.

Carson smiled as Dr. Weir walked into the lab, not just because he liked and respected her, but also because he’d spent much of the day in the same room with Doctors Zelenka and McKay. On top of that, he’d had to cajole a passive-aggressive (and surprisingly whiny) Colonel Sheppard through a series of scans and tests. On the whole, he would have smiled at the arrival of anyone who was likely to relate like a mature adult human.

“Have you got something?” Weir asked him.

“Oh, yeah, tons of stuff,” McKay said from another workstation, barely glancing up and assuming she was talking to him. “It’s gonna blow your mind, trust me. I think Carson came up with a couple of things, too.”

Weir gave Carson an apologetic look, which he acknowledged graciously. He wondered if she ever entertained occasional fantasies that involved, say, locking McKay into a stasis chamber or strapping him to a gurney and clouting him with a bag of lemons or coming up behind him with a syringe full of–

“Are these the scans you wanted to show me?” Weir said, looking at a screen displaying brain images generated by the Ancient scanning device.

“Yes,” Carson replied, moving to her side. “I took scans of a large cross-section of our personnel, but Colonel Sheppard’s show the most dramatic results.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Probably because before coming to Atlantis, he had never been through a stargate at all, but since we’ve been here, he’s been through it more times than almost anyone. Since I’m comparing scans taken just before we originally left Earth to current ones, the effects are most pronounced in his.” He paused, ritualistically, as she stared at the scans.

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

Convention now satisfied, he proceeded to point to an area on the image on the left. “We know that creative thinking involves sort of a team effort of various parts of the brain–visual processing, manipulation of imagery, making choices. So here is an image of Colonel Sheppard’s brain after he was given a complex mental task over two years ago, back in Antarctica. You can see a large network of neuronic activity was involved.”

“Okay,” Weir said.

Carson was pretty sure she was trying to avoid admitting that she, in fact, couldn’t discern the neuronic activity at all. He pretended not to notice. “Today, I asked him to consider a similar scenario, and his brain showed a slight but noticeable reduction in the pattern of activity. Not really in the scale of brain areas involved, but in the intensity in which some areas participated.”

“So,” Weir said, “the bottom line is…”

“Something has definitely changed in his brain’s process of assessing the choices available to him in a given situation,” Carson said. “It’s subtle, but it has certainly altered his thinking to some degree. And I’ve seen similar results in the brain patterns of all the people I’ve tested.”

“Even in mine,” McKay said, “which is way more disturbing, since the possibility of this expedition getting out of any given predicament alive usually comes down to the strength of my brain power and almost superhuman problem-solving ability.” He stopped, catching the expressions of Carson, Weir, and Zelenka, and added plaintively, “Oh, come on! It’s not arrogant to say it if it’s true.”

“Okay,” Weir said, “so the phenomenon is real. Do we know what’s causing it?”

McKay opened his mouth, but Zelenka slipped in first. “We’re fairly certain that the stargate is responsible.”

“Specifically, we think the change occurs when the gate breaks our brains down into individual molecules,” McKay added quickly.

Zelenka said, “It’s also possible it happens during the reassembly phase.”

“More likely during the disassembly, but yes, it’s very difficult to determine with certainty.”

Weir gave them a level look. “For the record, this is not actually blowing my mind.”

McKay folded his arms and jutted out his chin. “Fine! If you’re asking us to explain our incredibly complex findings in detail, we can certainly do that. But bear in mind that we had to invent a new kind of math just to begin to analyze the problem.”

“And then invent another kind of math to start extrapolating potential solutions,” Zelenka added.

“We might be able to explain it in terms you would understand, but it will probably involve inventing a new kind of language to properly dumb it down.”

“All right, you’ve made your point,” Elizabeth said, turning to Carson. “In your medical opinion, what are the risks here? Is this change to our thought patterns really all that dangerous? I mean, we’ve survived a lot of seemingly impossible situations in three years here, even with whatever the stargate is doing to us. I can’t see how this could pose an imminent threat.”

Carson cleared his throat. “Well, I’m not ready to… there isn’t enough evidence yet to know… I think–”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Carson,” McKay blurted. “Just tell her already!”

“Tell me what?”

Pushing away another mental image of the bag of lemons, Carson faced her. “This afternoon, after spending hours analyzing scans and thinking about the selective blindness Rodney and Radek have brought to our attention, I had a sudden urge to go into one of the private rooms off the infirmary. And that’s when I found him.”

“Found who?”

“Sergeant Bates!” McKay said with amusement. “Can you believe it? I’d forgotten all about that guy.”

“Bates?” Weir said. “Our former chief of security?”

“Last seen in a coma after being beaten almost to death by that wraith who beamed into the city a year and a half ago,” McKay confirmed expositionally.

Eyes wide with sudden panic, Weir said to Carson, “You forgot a comatose patient for almost two years?”

“Not exactly,” Carson said defensively, tossing a hostile glance at McKay. “I mean, we continued to care for him, tending to all his daily needs. But none of us actually _thought_ about him and why he was there, in a coma. And he never got worse and never woke up. It was like he faded away into the background, waiting for someone to pay attention.”

“But… but how…”

“Hand-waving,” McKay said briskly. “Whatever is keeping us from thinking about certain things is also shielding us from the evidence of those forbidden topics. So, faced with actual realities that don’t match up to perceived realities, our minds hand-wave the problem away.”

Weir looked to Carson, and he cocked his head. “It’s as good an explanation as any I can think of.”

Weir ran her fingers through her hair distractedly. “So I guess we’ve been lucky that this phenomenon hasn’t caused any deaths.”

“Well, we don’t _know_ that it hasn’t caused any deaths,” McKay said with evident irritation. “I mean, maybe if we’d instituted a ‘shoot for the head’ policy early on, we’d have lost fewer people to the wraith. And who knows what other things we’re conveniently failing to think about? Truth is, we simply have no way of knowing how many of our decisions have resulted in loss of life that could have been avoided.”

Weir looked grim. “So what are our options?”

“We’re working on a countermeasure that we think will eliminate the effect on our brain function,” McKay said.

“Or at least blunt it a little,” Zelenka modified.

“I think it will do more than a little–”

“Perhaps, but we shouldn’t over-promise–”

“Gentlemen,” Weir said, holding up a hand. “How soon will this countermeasure be ready?”

The scientists traded silent interrogatories before McKay responded uncertainly. “A day or so, I guess. For a first field test. We’re still debating on what materials to use.”

Zelenka nodded.

“Fine.” Weir put a hand to her earpiece and said, “Weir to control room. Suspend all gate travel until further notice. Have Colonel Sheppard report to my office in ten minutes.”

She started to turn to leave, then looked questioningly over Carson’s shoulder. He turned to see the scientists chuckling conspiratorily. “What are you two on about now?”

They both looked up with guilty faces.

“Nothing,” McKay said. “Carry on.”

Weir put her hands on her hips and glared. “What?”

Zelenka nodded to McKay, who gestured back magnanimously. The little Czech cleared his throat nervously. “Is just, we discovered another logical inconsistency today with regard to the radios. It’s not a problem, unless you think about it.”

“But since thinking is what we _do_ ,” McKay broke in, “it is now a problem for us.”

“What’s a problem?” Weir said. Carson was almost certain her teeth were clenched.

McKay said, “Well, you know how we’ve always just hit the earpiece and said, ‘So-and-so to such-and-such,’ and we somehow always reach the such-and-such we have in mind, and no extraneous people hear the conversation? Yeah, that doesn’t really make any sense. And ever since Radek and I discussed it–”

“We now hear everyone’s radio chatter,” Zelenka finished. “It’s made the radios all but useless for us.”

“We had to take the earpieces out,” McKay said, holding his up to show them. “Couldn’t get a damn thing done with all that racket in our heads.”

Suddenly, Carson’s ear was overwhelmed by a barrage of competing voices. With a small yelp, he dug out his earpiece just as Weir did the same.

“Oops,” McKay said in a small voice. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that just yet. At least until we came up with a viable workaround.”

 


	4. Captain Overkill and the Mylarheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney's and Radek's countermeasure may also come in handy against the Illuminati.

Chuck entered the locker room and came to an abrupt halt as raised voices signalled that all was not well with the mission prep. The control room technician hung back warily to get an idea of what was going on before completing the task he’d been given. One could really never be too careful when dealing with Colonel Sheppard’s team. So much drama.

“I just wanna know,” Sheppard was saying hotly, “how you two ‘geniuses’ came to the conclusion that a tinfoil hat was the answer to protecting our brains from the effects of the stargate.”

“Oh, please,” Dr. McKay snorted as he struggled into his tactical vest. “Zelenka is certainly no genius. And it’s hardly a tinfoil hat, Colonel. It’s not even real foil.”

“That’s kinda my point,” Sheppard retorted, rattling a flimsy metallic-looking rectangle in his team member’s face. “It’s a piece of a damned emergency blanket! What the hell is that gonna do for us?”

“John,” Teyla said calmly as she wrapped her head with a similar piece of reflective mylar, “Rodney and Dr. Zelenka have been working on this matter for two days. If they ar… if theyyyyyeerrrrr sure this will work, should we no… shouldunnnnnt we trust their scientific expertise?”

McKay frowned at her in open puzzlement and started to say something. Ronon smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t,” he growled quietly, and the scientist left his question unasked.

Sheppard was gearing up to respond to Teyla’s gentle rebuke when Chuck cleared his throat. “Colonel? Dr. Weir asked me to come check on you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sheppard repeated, a little dangerously, “Check on us?”

Swallowing, Chuck said, “To get an ETA, sir. She wanted to make sure the mission was on schedule.”

“Why did she not…. didunnnnt she simply radio Colonel Sheppard herself?” Teyla asked.

“Dr. Weir seems to be having an issue of some kind with the radio,” Chuck said. He hoped no one would ask for a more detailed explanation. Dr. Weir had refused to try a replacement earpiece and wouldn’t explain what was wrong the old one. Why she had insisted he come to the locker room in person was a further mystery. There was nothing wrong with _his_ radio.

Sheppard grimaced, turned back to McKay, and took a deep breath as though it burned all the way down. “I’m just saying,” he said (with a trace of something Chuck preferred not to interpret as petulance), “it doesn’t seem like reflective plastic film is gonna get the job done.”

He stuffed the rectangular piece of mylar into a white helmet.

“What’s that for?” Ronon asked. He had simply draped a piece of the mylar over his head and secured it by tying some of his dreadlocks behind his head.

“It’s a helmet from an F-302,” Sheppard answered.

“Not what I asked.”

“I’m using it to keep the stupid tinfoil in place,” Sheppard snapped, carefully donning the helmet. “Once we get out there, I don’t want to worry about it coming undone. Chances are we won’t have a lot of time to fuss with our hairdo’s when we’re ready to gate back.”

“Nooo problem, Captain Overkill,” McKay said, tying what appeared to be a bootlace into a bow under his chin. “And to think you were making fun of _my_ solution.”

“You’re strapping a colander to your head, Rodney,” Sheppard said flatly. “There’s overkill, and then there’s… whatever that would be called.”

“I’m just trying to keep the ‘tinfoil’ in place, just like you.”

“You’ve already got the silver stuff duct-taped to your head,” Ronon said.

“Fine!” McKay snapped. “I was trying to avoid saying this, but since you’ve insisted on making my customized headgear an issue, let me explain that I am simply trying to make sure my brain remains as untainted as possible, since it _is_ the brain that everyone inevitably turns to in a crisis.” He put his hands on the colander and wiggled it to test its stability. “If an extra layer of material will ensure that, looking a little silly is a small price to pay.”

“Does looking like a moron cost extra?” Sheppard said.

“Sir,” Chuck said quickly, “should I tell Dr. Weir…?”

“Oh-ho,” Sheppard said, “you can tell Dr. Weir–”

“Tell her,” Teyla cut in smoothly, tying off her piece of mylar into a rather stylish headscarf, “that weyerrrrrr nearly ready, and that weyulllll be in the gate room shortly.”

Chuck nodded to her gratefully and turned around. As he left the room, he heard McKay say, “Seriously, is she okay? Because she sounds kinda– Ow! _Stop that!_ ”

So. Much. Drama.


	5. Wraith on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It worked! It really worked! What could possibly go wrong?

Elizabeth left her desk and hurried into the control room when she heard the stargate firing up for an unscheduled off-world activation.

“It’s Colonel Sheppard’s IDC,” Chuck told her.

“They’ve only been gone an hour,” she said, alarmed. “Lower the shield.” As a battery of Marines took defensive positions on the gate room floor, automatic weapons raised, Elizabeth braced herself for a “hot” return, which often involved stray shots from alien weaponry sailing through the wormhole along with their expedition teams.

She reached for her headset to put a medical team on standby, then remembered that she couldn’t use the radio anymore. Nor could Beckett. They really needed to find a communications alternative.

The tension escalated, everyone waiting to see what manner of sideways this mission had gone. She knew that one question was paramount in everyone’s mind: which team member would Ronon be carrying back this time? (Elizabeth had heard rumors about a running pool on this topic, but had never managed to catch anyone actually placing or paying off bets.)

When all four members of Sheppard’s team strolled through the event horizon on their own power, each smiling broadly (Sheppard and McKay were actually chuckling), it was almost a letdown.

Elizabeth hurried down the steps as Sheppard waved casually at the Marines and said, “Stand down, guys. Nothing to see here.” Behind him, the wormhole disengaged unceremoniously.

“Colonel,” she said, closing the distance to the team quickly, “you’re all looking… relaxed.”

“Elizabeth, I wish you could’ve seen us in action,” Sheppard said. “Heck, I wish _I_ could’ve seen us! It’s too bad we couldn’t have taped it somehow.”

“Ooh,” McKay chirped, “Zelenka and I’ve been working on a tac-vest cam. We think it could be–”

Elizabeth held up a traffic-cop hand. “What happened out there?” she demanded.

“Our mission was a great success,” Teyla said, beaming. “Iyuhvv never seen the wraith succumb so easily.”

“Headshots, definitely the way to go,” Sheppard confirmed. “No coming back from that.”

“So, it worked?”

“Worked?” McKay shrilled. “We annihilated them! Took out practically the whole outpost. It was like walking through a shooting gallery. Or a bowling alley, where you’re throwing nothing but strikes. We just mowed ‘em down. After a while, the wraith were actually running from us! I took out ten or twelve, myself, I think.”

“Try five,” Ronon said, grinning. At McKay’s crestfallen look, he clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger the scientist, knocking the colander askew on his head. “But for you, that’s great.”

“Only five? Really?”

“ _Only_ five?” Elizabeth said, incredulous.

“Well, it just… it seemed like a lot more. I was really in the zone for a while, and then…” McKay frowned a little. “I remember thinking, _Wow, this is going great! I can’t believe I’m doing this._ And then, just like that, I stopped hitting anything.”

“Mind over matter,” Sheppard said supportively, pulling off his F-302 helmet. “You’ll get better with experience. Look, Rodney, I know I didn’t exactly jump on the bandwagon for your theory, but I have to admit that something felt different on this mission. _Good_ different. I think Project Tinfoil is ready for phase two.”

“What’s phase two?” McKay asked.

Sheppard held up the now wrinkled rectangle of mylar. “We need to create some standardized headgear for all of our gate teams. Nobody goes through the gate without it.”

McKay frowned in thought as his fingers struggled to untie the bootlace securing the colander. “Hmm. That’s a good idea. I guess we could start–”

“We can discuss this later,” Elizabeth interrupted, because sometimes the train needed to be reminded of who was running the station, “but first, I want you all to report to the infirmary. Dr. Beckett wants to take new scans of each of you.”

“Probably a good idea,” McKay said, becoming increasingly frustrated by his ability to untie the bootlace under his jaw. “I think I’m gonna need medical intervention to get the duct tape off my head. Not to mention this stupid colan– eep! _What are you–?_ ”

Ronon had clutched the bootlace in one hand and inserted the blade of one of his many knives under McKay’s chin. The colander was free before McKay’s cardiac arrest could proceed beyond the speculative phase. Folding the knife, the big man grinned again and chucked McKay on the upper arm, earning a response from the scientist that was part _owww_ and part _he likes me, he really likes me!_

Elizabeth regarded these shows of affection with ambivalence; on the one hand, it was gratifying to see Rodney and Ronon bonding; on the other, it might well land her chief scientist in the infirmary. Speaking of which…

“We should go see Dr. Beckett,” Teyla said, apparently reading her mind. “Iiyyum very anxious to learn if there is a noticeable change in our brain scans.”

“Me, too,” Sheppard said. “Okay, guys--last one to the infirmary buys.”

“Buys what?” McKay said.

“I’ll think of something.”

 

 


	6. Too Much of a Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So apparently they didn't give enough thought to the potential ramifications. That's really surprising. They're usually so thorough about that kind of thing.

Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, John watched with a deep sense of satisfaction as yet another strike team, led by Major Lorne, left through the gate in a puddle jumper. Beside him, Ronon leaned against the railing and groused, “Still don’t see why I couldn’t go with them.”

“We’ve had this discussion,” John said. “We’ve been doing a mission a day for the past three weeks. You can’t go on every one of them. Everybody has to eat and sleep, even you.”

“I think you guys just don’t like that I kill more wraith than all of you combined.”

“We do kinda hate you for that. But the eating and sleeping thing, that’s a concern, too.” John looked up at his team member, frowning in assessment. “Speaking of which, you look a little tired.”

“I’m not.”

“No? Well, your eyes are kinda baggy.”

Ronon fixed him with that intense stare that had the power to turn most peoples’ innards to water. “I’m fine.” But then he looked away quickly and said, “Anyway, I think you got bigger problems.”

Having never before won a stare-down with the big guy, John was momentarily unable to process the latter statement. “I… uh… what?”

“Something’s weird around here,” Ronon said. “This morning, when I went for a run, I–”

“John, could you come in here, please?”

John looked around and saw Weir standing outside her office, about fifty feet away. He wondered yet again why she would no longer use the radio. For the past few weeks, she’d relied on shouting across rooms, using the city’s intercom, having _other_ people send radio messages, and sending messengers on foot to get in touch with her intended targets. She wouldn’t explain this sudden personal abandonment of the radio equipment. Neither would Beckett, McKay, and Zelenka, who had also stopped using radios.

He waved to indicate he’d heard her and went to her office. When he stepped inside, he realized Ronon had accompanied him as though his presence, too, had been requested. He noted Weir’s brief look of surprise, but she didn’t say anything, so John figured he wouldn’t either. Ronon seemed a little cranky lately.

John was further surprised to find Beckett and Kate Heightmeyer, the expedition psychologist, sitting in the chairs facing the desk. John was the first to admit he wasn’t terribly intuitive about other people’s emotional states, given that he tried very hard to be unaware of his own, but even he could see that Kate was looking a little frayed.

“Carson and Kate think we have a problem,” Weir said, half-sitting on the side of her desk.

John laughed, until he realized nobody was joking. “You’ve gotta be kidding! This is the first time since we left the Milky Way that we’ve actually had the upper hand against the wraith. And thanks to Rodney and Zelenka, we’re in complete control of our perceptions and decision-making. I call that the opposite of having a problem.”

“But we’re _not_ in complete control, Colonel,” Beckett said seriously.

“Of course we are!” John threw up his hands, realizing too late that this was not a good reinforcement of his claim to be in control. “We’ve eliminated the mental interference from the stargate, thanks to Rodney’s special headgear, and that's eliminated the limitations to our thinking that the stargate was causing.”

“Yes,” Heightmeyer agreed in her soft-spoken manner, “but the removal of those limitations seems to have created some unforeseen issues.”

“Like what?”

“Behavioral changes,” Heightmeyer said. “In some people, like yourself, they’ve been relatively minor and benign. But in others–”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t had any changes in behavior.”

Ronon snorted, while Weir gave him a look that said, _Are you kidding?_ Heightmeyer merely looked professionally sympathetic.

“Son,” Beckett said gently, “have you not noticed that you’ve stopped using product in your hair?”

Frowning, John reached up to run his hand over the top of his head, astonished to note that his hair was smooth, flat, even combed. With some alarm, he realized that Colonel Caldwell would probably approve of it.

“I felt like a change, that’s all,” he said.

“You’ve also been a lot more by-the-book,” Ronon said bluntly. "Running drills, doing surprise inspections. Basically acting like the military commander.”

“I _am_ the military commander.”

“Yeah, but now you’re acting like it.”

“All of which is fine,” Weir said quickly. “Nobody is complaining about your transformation, John.”

“I think ‘transformation’ is a bit of an overstatement,” John protested.

“The problem is, for some people, the transformation has been more… significant,” Heightmeyer said delicately.

“What, did someone start wearing aftershave?” John asked. “Change brands of toothpaste? Start learning Spanish in their spare time?”

A peal of loud, feminine laughter from the control room caught everyone’s attention. John followed the group gaze to see Teyla perched on one of the control panels, smiling broadly at Chuck. The gate tech smiled back and said something, which caused her to throw back her head and laugh again, straight from her belly.

John had never seen her do that before, and had certainly never heard it. It was sort of like watching a buttoned-down middle-school English teacher suddenly doing a strip-tease on a busy street corner.

“We think it started with the contractions,” Beckett said soberly. “She seems to be slowly losing her self-restraint.”

John flashed him an irked expression. "With all due respect, Doc, she’s laughing, not ‘entertaining the troops.’”

“Yesterday, she was playing quarters with the Marines,” Ronon said. At John’s look, he added, “‘Sokay. She won.”

“But the point is,” Weir said, “she’s undergoing a fairly radical change in behavior, for no discernible reason other than our removal of the stargate’s brain influence.”

“Okay,” John said slowly, “I admit, that’s a little… unnerving. But is it necessarily a negative? I mean, if the stargate’s been shaping our minds, can’t we assume that the way people act when that influence is removed is who they really are, what they were supposed to be all along?”

Weir looked to Heightmeyer, who took a deep breath. “Yes, quite possibly. I think the problem is that we’ve removed the influence very abruptly, without giving anyone an adjustment period. It’s likely that everyone’s mind is now expanding in their natural direction, but with a suddenness that could be taking them there too fast.”

“And, what? Overshooting the mark?”

“Yes. It’s possible that Teyla would have loosened up a little if we’d removed the limiting influence of the stargate gradually. But cutting it out so completely in such a short time might be driving her far beyond what would have been her natural boundaries.”

Another trill of laughter caused them all to look in time to see Teyla leaning forward, cleavage-first, to ruffle Chuck’s hair playfully with one hand. The knowledge that she routinely used that same hand to beat John with her Bantos rods momentarily made him unreasonably pissed at Chuck.

“I gather this goes beyond my hair and Teyla’s drinking games,” John said.

“As far as we can tell,” Beckett said, “all of the gate-traveling personnel have been affected to some degree. A few are displaying substantial personality shifts, like Teyla, that call their judgment into question.”

Taking a deep breath, John let it out in a resigned sigh. “So we should probably ground Teyla, and anyone else showing those kinds of tendencies.”

As he said it, he realized that he would never have suggested such a course of action so blithely a few weeks ago. In fact, he would have argued against it. Someone else would have had to talk him into it. He shifted his weight uneasily and realized that he was actually standing with a straight spine. The chill that now traveled along it was noticeably direct.

Beckett and Weir exchanged a look that suggested there was still more bad news coming.

“What?”

With obvious reluctance, Beckett said, “That might not be enough, Colonel. It’s quite possible that, with time, all of us will succumb to this unexpected side effect.”

“What are you saying? Will it just continue until we’re all like completely different people?”

“Probably not,” Beckett said. “And it’s likely we can reverse the process, more or less, by resuming unprotected gate travel.”

John frowned. “That would mean losing the advantages we’ve gained over the wraith.”

“Possibly,” Weir said.

“So, for now, just send the people most affected through without the headgear. As more people start showing signs, we can do the same with them.”

“John–” Weir began.

“Elizabeth, we can’t give up the ground we’ve gained–”

“Unscheduled off-world activation!” Chuck shouted from the control room.

John, Ronon, and Weir were the first out the office door, but John didn’t notice much of anything else after that, because he was too busy staring at the stargate’s event horizon.

The _deep crimson_ event horizon.

Leaning toward Ronon, John said in a low voice, “It’s usually blue, right?”

“Yeah.”

"And it's not blue now."

"Nope."

Hey, if he hadn’t noticed he’d stopped slouching and spiking his hair, he wasn’t sure what perceptions he _could_ trust.

“Has there been any communication?” Weir asked, her voice apprehensive.

“No, ma’am.”

“Iyuhv never seen a stargate make that color,” Teyla said. “Perhaps this is some sort of retaliation from the wraith.”

“Could be,” John said. “We’ve put a serious hurt on them recently. If someone’s giving us payback, it’s probably them.”

The wormhole disengaged, with no attempt at communication.

Above them, the citywide intercom activated. “Hey, um. Did the.. did the stargate just activate?”

They all looked up at the ceiling, as though expecting to see McKay’s face hovering above them.

“Rodney?” Weir said.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s me.”

“Where are you?” John demanded.

“In the lab,” he answered testily. “Why? No, never mind. The stargate–”

“Yes, Rodney, it activated,” Weir said. “How did you know?”

“Was it… was there anything… did it look…”

“It was red,” Ronon said.

“Oh,” McKay said, sounding ill. “Oh, god. I knew it.”

“Rodney?” Beckett said, looking worried.

“Carson? Wait, why are you all in the control room?”

“Yes,” Teyla echoed, her eyes suspicious, “why were you all in Elizabeth’s office just now?”

“Teyla too?” McKay’s voice squeaked. “Oh, you guys were having a meeting I wasn’t invited to, weren’t you? That’s just great.”

Weir frowned. “Rodney, you’re using the citywide–”

“Yes, yes, yes, I figured out how to isolate specific areas from my workstation. I’m directing this transmission just to the control room. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very–”

“Look,” McKay interrupted, “never mind, there’s no time for this. This city is in huge, huge danger of an unprecedented kind. I’ve got to… I have to…”

“What kind of danger?” John asked.

“I can’t talk about it, it will just make things worse.”

“Rodney,” Heightmeyer said, “I hope you know you can talk about it with me. Why don’t you meet me in my off–”

“ _Kate?_ You were all meeting without me, and the resident shrink was involved? Oh, this just gets better and better.”

“Iyuhm still waiting for an explanation of this meeting, myself,” Teyla added.

“Listen,” McKay said. John had heard this level of desperation in the man’s voice before, and always in situations that were about to go very, very wrong. “Listen, I can’t explain, it would be too dangerous for everyone.”

“Dr. Weir,” said one of the technicians whose name John had never managed to learn, “we’re picking up something odd on the short-range sensors.”

“Oh, no,” McKay said faintly.

“It looks like… whales. Thousands of them, surrounding the city.”

“Again?” John said. That seemed like it should really be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of occurrence. Well, zero-in-a-lifetime, if you weren’t part of the Stargate program.

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

“Wait a minute,” Weir said. “The last time this happened, there was a solar–”

“There isn’t one, this time,” McKay sputtered. “And there’s not going to be a sonic issue this time, either. That’s not why they’re here.”

Well, at least they weren’t all going to burst their eardrums this time around, or suffer lethal brain damage. “So, why _are_ they here?” John asked.

McKay’s giggle would have barely moved the needle on a sanity detector. “To eat me. Or maybe all of us.”

Teyla frowned. “If this is an erotic joke, it doesunnt seem very funny.”

“Or erotic,” Ronon agreed.

“And how are they going to do that, Rodney?” Beckett asked, as though McKay seemed anywhere in the vicinity of responsive to logic. “It’s not like they can–”

 _“Don’t make me imagine it!_ ” McKay cried shrilly. “That’s what got me into… Look, there’s only one solution to this. I have to take myself out of the equation.”

“Rodney,” John said, in the voice one uses when speaking to a guy with a bomb strapped to his chest and a dead man’s switch in his hand, “if you take yourself out of the equation, how can you solve it?”

McKay said, “Taking myself out _is_ the solution. You’ll see.” There was a brief pause, then he croaked, “Goodbye.”

“Rodney!” Weir shouted. There was no response.

Just then, Zelenka came running into the control room, breathing hard. “There’s trouble,” he said, gasping. “Rodney–”

“We know!” John yelled, then frowned. “Okay, that was premature. We know he’s in trouble, but not the specifics. Go ahead.”

Looking irritated, Zelenka pointedly turned to Weir to explain. “Rodney’s fears seem to be physically manifesting themselves. He thinks of something that frightens him, and it happens.”

“Say again?” Weir said.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” John said.

Zelenka folded his arms and thrust out his jaw, almost as though he were channeling McKay. “I didn’t believe it myself, until I saw it happen.”

“No!” John said, feeling an untethered outrage building inside him. “I can buy that taking out the stargate’s influence could change the way we think and wear our hair and, uh, flirt, but I don’t see–”

“Whyuhd you look at me when you said flirt?” Teyla demanded.

“–how that could possibly translate to McKay having mental superpowers!”

“It makes sense, though,” Heightmeyer said. “The absence of the stargate’s dampening influence has apparently removed a lot of barriers. Rodney’s mind has always been  subject to extremes--extremely high-performing, but also burdened with extreme anxieties. Now, with certain constraints suddenly gone, his imagination has even fuller rein than usual.”

Radek nodded, “And being McKay, he has begun to obsess over all the fearful things he can imagine, which has somehow led to those fears manifesting. He told me he can’t stop it. He’s convinced that he’s going to destroy the city with his imagination.”

There was a brief, shocked silence. John wondered if anyone else was thinking how odd it seemed that the wraith had become such a non-threat that they were playing no part in this crisis.

“Is that possible?” Weir asked the little scientist. “Can his imagination really destroy the city?”

Zelenka shrugged. “He’s Rodney McKay. He thinks his brain can do anything.”

John’s mouth went dry. That was very true.

“Weeyuhr screwed,” Teyla said.

 


	7. What the Flock?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney's going to kill himself. Maybe. They're going to save him. Probably.

Radek struggled to keep up with the small crowd rushing through the halls of Atlantis. He had determined, using their scanning equipment, that McKay had left the lab, but the trail ended abruptly when the signal from his subcutaneous transmitter disappeared. Radek didn’t know why they all seemed so devastated by this; McKay deactivating his tracking device was entirely predictable. In McKay’s place, Radek would have done exactly the same thing.

He also didn’t understand why they all believed that McKay was about to commit suicide. “That seems very unlikely,” he said. “Rodney is more afraid of pain and death than anyone I have ever met.”

“Cannnt you see he intends to sacrifice himself?” Teyla demanded. She looked as though she might be thinking of throwing Radek up against a wall to punctuate her statement. “He believes his imaginings are threatening the city, so heeezzz planning to eliminate the threat.”

Radek sought to put Ronon between himself and Teyla as they all kept moving. He had always suspected that, beneath her pleasant and kind veneer, she really didn’t like him.  “Yes, but you see, his fears are coming to life. That means that his imagination is also supplying countermeasures. It is those that are the real danger.”

“That why the whales disappeared from the sensors?” Sheppard asked.

Radek nodded. “He probably imagined them away, same as he imagined them into existence.”

“So what’s the problem?” Ronon said. “If he can just make the stuff go away as easy as he makes it happen…”

Snorting, Radek pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, yes, if he consciously comes up with the countermeasure, he can make sure it’s done safely. But if he is too scared to think rationally, his subconscious will employ the first line of defense it can think of. And that could be something _very_ unpleasant.”

Dr. Heightmeyer barked a short laugh. “You have no idea.” Then she suddenly looked mortified. “I’m sorry. That was very unprofessional.”

“It’s all right, Kate,” Dr. Weir told her. “We were all thinking it.”

“Rodney has been telling me for over a week that his thoughts were coming true,” Radek said, “but I ignored him, thinking it was another bout of hypochondria.”

“Ha!” Dr. Beckett huffed. “I can certainly understand that.”

“But this afternoon, he and I were arguing. I had brought him coffee. Suddenly, he was convinced the cup I’d brought him contained citrus. He leaped up and backed away from it, knocking over chairs. I tried to explain it was just coffee. I picked up the cup to show him. He threw up his arms in front of his face, and--boom! Cup exploded, all over me.”

Weir stared with wide eyes. “Rodney made the cup explode?”

“Not consciously,” Radek said quickly, because the last thing he wanted to do was add weight to Sheppard’s superpowers characterization. “But he was imagining a terrifying immediate threat, and his subconscious supplied a defense.”

Sheppard grunted. “Bet he felt kinda silly when you were covered in plain ol’ coffee.”

“That’s the thing,” Radek said. “I brought him coffee, but when the cup exploded, it contained lemonade.”

Everyone came to a gradual stop, staring at him. Impatiently, Radek said, “Why is this shocking? The man just created thousands of whales come to eat him! How is turning a cup of of coffee to lemonade more frightening?”

Clearing his throat, Sheppard said, “Probably because it’s a lot more, uh…”

“Potentially messianic?” Weir supplied.

“Right.”

Radek forced himself to take a deep breath. As unfair as it felt for him to be trying to save McKay from the ravages of wielding tremendous, godlike power--again--it was still the right thing to do. “While we are stopped, we should probably try to reason where he might be going.”

“The pier?” Sheppard guessed. “It’d be a good place to jump.”

“Top of the tower?” Ronon offered. “He could jump from there, too.”

Beckett looked distressed. “This is bloody morbid.”

Heightmeyer said, “Maybe the armory, where you keep the C-4.”

“Oh, good one,” Sheppard said.

Shaking his fists, Radek said, “I told you! He will not be trying to kill himself! He is so afraid of pain, anything he tried to do to himself would be contravened by his subconscious. We should be thinking of ways he could put himself ‘out of the equation’ short of suicide.”

They all stood in frustrated thought until Beckett slapped his forehead. “The stasis chamber! It would take his brain offline without damaging him, and I know he’s not afraid of it. I once caught him trying to rig it with a snooze feature. He was put out that I wouldn’t prescribe him a stronger sleeping aid, so he was planning to sleep in the stasis pod for a few nights.”

Sheppard said, “Wait a second. If he’s not planning to kill himself, why are we trying to stop him? If his subconscious is going to destroy the city, wouldn’t it be smarter to let him put himself into stasis?”

Radek blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. He studied Sheppard, wondering for the latest of many times whether the man was brilliant and masking it, or an average guy who occasionally lurched into brilliant insights.

But then Beckett said, “I don’t think stasis is the magic bullet Rodney thinks it is. It doesn’t really shut off the brain, just slows it way down.”

“Won’t that accomplish the same thing?” Weir asked.

“For most people, maybe,” Radek said, catching the doctor’s point and running with it. “As Rodney would be shouting in our faces if he were here, his brain already runs far faster than most.”

“And right now,” Heightmeyer said, “it’s in overdrive. We had a session yesterday, and he was talking so fast I had to play back the recording at half-speed to decipher all of it.”

A brief, uncomfortable silence was broken by Teyla. “I wasunnnt aware that you recorded those sessions.”

Radek watched as Teyla took a rather menacing step toward the psychologist, then halted as Beckett said, “The point is, Rodney’s subconscious is still likely capable of operating while he’s in stasis. In fact, without the relative discipline of his conscious mind, things could get even uglier than–”

“What’s that sound?” Weir cut in suddenly.

Radek saw them just as she said it--a flock of ten, maybe twelve honking, oversized Canada geese moving down an adjoining corridor. They seemed heavily muscled for geese, and if pressed, Radek would have characterized their gait as strutting. Leather jackets would not have seemed unduly out of place on them.

As the flock passed, one of them turned its head and flashed a look that sneered, _What are you gonna do about it?_

The surreality having reached something of a saturation point, everyone just stood there, shocked into inactivity that might have stretched on indefinitely had not Radek coughed discreetly and said, “Should we…?”

“Right,” Sheppard said, shaking his head slightly, “let’s get to the stasis room.”

“I’ll make a quick stop in the infirmary,” Beckett said, “and meet you all there.”

And then they were all dashing through the halls again, this time with an actual destination. As Radek worked to keep up, he shook his head and wondered just how long any of them would last without a scientist around.

 

 


	8. Stop Looking at Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronon thinks about what he's been hiding from everyone. Unfortunately for us, he's as terse in his head as he is when he speaks, so that kind of sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos, folks! I appreciate the feedback. :)

Ronon pondered as they all rushed toward the stasis room. Pondering wasn’t something that came naturally to him, so he wasn’t sure he was doing it right. Regardless, he was at least trying to ponder what their plan might be once they reached McKay.

He supposed he should just _ask_ what they intended to do, and then Sheppard would realize he hadn’t actually made a plan, and then he’d make a really stupid one, and everyone would point out the flaws and make suggestions, and they’d end up with something that would be more or less workable.

He _didn’t_ ask, though, because by the time they needed the plan, they would inevitably find that the situation was different than they’d expected, or some key element they were relying on was missing, or somebody would simply screw up, and they’d wind up improvising anyway.

Ronon felt glad that he didn’t usually ponder. It was kind of depressing.

“You okay, big guy?” Sheppard said, startling him. Not that it would show; Ronon knew that his control over his displays of emotion was exceeded only by McKay’s lack of such control.

“Fine. Why?”

“You’re just really quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but you looked almost… lost in thought.”

Ronon snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Sheppard grinned reluctantly, then gave a slight shrug and turned his attention back to, Ronon guessed, not thinking about a plan. The Satedan resumed his pondering.

The last three weeks had been a whirlwind of the unimaginably good and the unspeakably shameful. McKay’s headgear had been the best thing ever to happen to Ronon, because it had given him the ability to kill wraith by the dozens per minute. There was nothing he could ever want more than the chance to slaughter the wraith into extinction, and so Ronon felt a great debt of gratitude toward McKay for this great gift.

But the stargate headgear had also brought upon Ronon his secret shame, and while it wasn’t the worst thing ever to happen to him, it was the worst thing since he’d come to live in Atlantis.

“What was that?” Sheppard again.

“What was what?” he asked, trying to inject a faint note of surly impatience. Sheppard was usually sensitive to that and would often end a line of questioning the moment he heard it.

But he’d forgotten that Sheppard had changed a bit in the past few weeks.

“That little thing you did just now. Kind of a, I don’t know… a skipping step, or something.”

“You imagined it,” Ronon said.

“I don’t think so…”

“I don’t skip.”

Ronon kept his eyes resolutely ahead, but noted with his peripheral vision when Sheppard stopped looking his way.

Ronon wasn’t given to biting his lip or any of the other nervous mannerisms of his Earth-born friends, but he was worried.

This was the first time he’d done it unconsciously in the presence of others.

At first, it had been just a vague urge, but it grew into a persistent longing. He’d begun seeking a solitary place to indulge the ever-growing compulsion, until he found himself spending almost as many off-hours engaged in the embarrassing activity as he spent on strike missions. In fact, it was beginning to dominate his thoughts, even eclipsing the desire to massacre wraith, driving him from his bed at night to move in hushed shame in the sleeping city. And for that, Ronon felt a great debt of rage toward McKay. Sure, it wasn’t really fair to blame Rodney, but life wasn’t fair.

He knew the Earth folk called this feeling “ambivalence.” He’d rarely experienced it before--at least, not to this degree. He didn’t like it. Ronon preferred an unconflicted thumbs-up or -down in his emotional state. He needed to feel one way or the other; otherwise, how did one know the proper action to take when the moment arrived?

“Okay, what the hell is with you?” Sheppard demanded, stopping. Ronon stopped too, as did the rest of the group, and said nothing, preferring to stare ominously and, he hoped, intimidate the colonel back into silence.

Weir intervened, instead. “Colonel Sheppard, what’s the problem?”

“You honestly didn’t see him do that?”

“No, John, I honestly didn’t.” Weir sounded and looked exasperated. “Because I’m a bit too preoccupied with finding Rodney and dealing with a dire threat to the city to stare at one of our…” She trailed off, glancing around at them all in puzzlement.

Ronon counted heads and understood her reaction. “Where’s Teyla?”

“She split off a few seconds after Dr. Beckett left,” Heightmeyer said. “I think she was planning to meet him in the infirmary.”

“What for?” Sheppard demanded. Heightmeyer shrugged.

Zelenka said, with quiet urgency, “Forgive me, but it doesn’t matter. We need to be focused on getting to McKay as soon as possible. We must put aside all distractions.”

Ronon grunted in support. For a mousy little guy, Zelenka had guts when it really counted.

Sheppard nodded. “Right. Let’s step up the pace. We need to get to the stasis chamber before Rodney puts himself on ice.” He took the lead, moving at a very brisk pace that forced Zelenka, the shortest of their party, to nearly jog to keep up.

“Do we have a plan?” Zelenka asked, a little breathless.

Ronon tuned out Sheppard’s answer, and the brief discussion that followed. Nothing they put together would actually work out in the end. He’d found that staying loose and adaptable was the only successful plan.

When they reached McKay, what would be the right thing for him to do? Ronon recognized that the scientist was suffering, that he was trying to protect his people, that he was Ronon’s teammate and, yes, his friend. With these things in mind, his priority should be to stop McKay from doing anything that might harm himself, to keep him safe, and keep the city safe. But the other debt burned, as well. Intended or not, McKay’s actions had caused Ronon to suffer, and for that, he must be made to pay.

Slipping to the rear, unseen by rest of the group, he stuttered a couple of steps, executed a short leap, landed nimbly and in perfect silence, and continued to move without missing a step.

Ronon decided that he would hope for a situation that could satisfy both needs: to save McKay in a manner that allowed Ronon to inflict some pain on him. Nothing too horrific, nothing permanent.

Resolving this relieved some of the tension in Ronon’s body, and most of the ponder-induced depression. He stopped thinking and just let himself move.


	9. It Shouldn't Be This Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rodney is, literally, his own worst enemy.

It was safe to say that Rodney loved his mind more than anything in the universe. His mind was, quite frankly, the best that at least two galaxies had to offer, and he had used it to save people in both those galaxies so many times that he was accused of bragging whenever he tried to enumerate them in exact order.

Rodney’s mind was exceptionally prolific, an infinite cornucopia of knowledge and an eternal wellspring of ideas and inventiveness that everyone in the city knew they could rely on to solve any life-or-death puzzle in the nick of time, again and again. Put bluntly, Rodney’s mind had an almost uniformly heroic track record.

Rodney’s subconscious, however, was a total asshole.

It wasn’t _Rodney’s_ fault, after all, that Zelenka had been sprayed with lemon death. It was Rodney’s subconscious trying to protect him from a deadly allergen. Maybe if Zelenka had believed Rodney’s entreaties instead of trusting his own knowledge that he’d poured coffee into the cup himself, he would have avoided being doused.

They’d argued all over again after that, because Zelenka couldn’t seem to understand that telling someone to “calm down” universally has the opposite effect, and that consciously _not_ thinking about something is completely impossible. The little clown-haired freak had finally stormed out of the lab. Oh, sure, it was under the pretext of “getting help,” but it’s not like anyone could really help in a situation like this.

Rodney had tried to take the abandonment graciously, he really had. It’s not like he’d consciously _intended_ to tell Zelenka to go to hell and accidentally manifest the Hellgate (his personal nightmare of a wormhole that led, literally, to the Underworld). He shuddered now, thinking about what manner of horrifying creatures might have stepped into the gate room if he hadn’t de-imagined the Hellgate as quickly as he’d done.

Rodney was therefore forced to acknowledge that his mind had crossed the line between too important to lose and too dangerous to have around. For the good of the city, and possibly the universe... he would have to remove himself.

Of course, he would need a way that was quick (so there wouldn’t be time to back out of the decision), foolproof (so he wouldn’t wind up alive but vegetative), and above all, pain-free. There aren’t a lot of suicide methods that can tick all those boxes; at least, not ones that can be done on such short notice.

Enter the asshole subconscious, which was determined to deny him this noble gesture by any means necessary.

First, it sealed the door to the lab, locking him inside. “Oh, you so do not know who you are dealing with,” he told his subconscious, glad no one else was around to question his logic. With a little concentration, he was easily able to work up a substantial bout of claustrophobia, and the door sprang open as his subconscious countered that fear.

He left the lab, consulting a tablet to determine the shortest route to the pier. While he was at it, he stabbed in a command to deactivate his personal tracking chip. The last thing he (and the city) needed was a bunch of well-meaning doofuses misguidedly interfering in his self-sacrificing gesture.

He waved open the door to the pier, trying not to think too much about what was coming so that his subconscious wouldn’t have time to react. Jumping here would be his best option. He wouldn’t drown--the impact with the ocean would kill him instantly. At least, that’s what Sheppard had told him the first time they’d stood together at the edge and Rodney had expressed his fear of drowning.

As he jogged toward the edge, the light around the city changed dramatically. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the sun reflecting off the ocean, which had turned a sort of dark reddish-brown. Rodney slowed, wrinkling his nose. There was a metallic tang in the air that had replaced the salty scent of the ocean. Without thinking, he swept his tongue along the inside of his mouth and realized he was checking to see if he’d bitten his lip.

The ocean water had been replaced… with blood.

“Oh, now, that’s just disgusting!” he shouted, coming to a halt. He had a dim memory of waking this morning from a nightmare about the ordeal in the jumper at the bottom of the ocean. The jumper had sprung a leak, but in the dream, it was blood that began to flood the compartment. He fought down an urge to retch.

Yeah, scratch this plan. No way could he bring himself to jump to his death into a sea of blood. He had a hard enough time dealing when he cut himself shaving.

As Rodney turned, intending to go back instead, he felt his native stubbornness begin to stiffen his spine, and with it, his resolve. No, goddammit! This was a perfectly serviceable suicide method, he was already out here, and he would not be bullied by his own stupid subconscious. After all, it’s not like it was really blood (in all likelihood). It was just a very convincing illusion (probably). By the time his body reached the surface, it would just be plain old salt water (almost certainly). His courage thus bolstered (sort of), he turned around and started to walk toward the pier’s edge again as briskly as his churning stomach would allow.

The honking started off to his left. He turned his head and saw, incredibly, a large, unmistakable Canada goose. More honks from his right alerted him to two more geese.  Then there were a couple straight ahead of him, and two additional ones on the left--more every time he looked in any direction--and they were all closing in on him. They had a quite discernible sense of purpose, like a gang of bullies approaching the new kid on the playground.

It was just like that terrifying incident at the petting zoo all those years ago. When he was fifteen.

The geese squawked, flapped their wings… and rushed him.

Rodney spun and ran back toward the door as fast as his legs could manage. Even in the panic of the moment, it was not lost on him that his subconscious was using his conscious fears to protect him from his own responses to subconscious fears that his conscious mind had manifested. It was confusing, faintly incestuous, and bordering on an infinite loop.

Reaching the door, he waved it open and dashed inside. He closed it behind him as he stood gasping. At least he was safe from them now, since even these steroidal geese weren’t tall enough to reach the device that opened the door.

Unless, of course, they used their gift of flight, as they were now doing. Rodney yelped a little curse and took off down the corridor before they actually managed to open the door.

Okay, so Plan A for Rodney Does Death was a no-go. Sticking with the jump-to-your-doom theme, he headed for a transporter that would take him to the central tower. Selecting the setting that would deliver him to the top of the tower, he felt an icy knot in his gut. The plan to jump off the pier had been much easier to _not_ think about, somehow. Climbing to the top of a huge tower sheerly for plummeting purposes was a bit less subject to distraction.

He diverted his mind by counting by prime numbers. When the transporter doors opened, he barreled through, still counting, and barely managed to stop before he mowed down the toddler waddling in his path. He was a towheaded child wearing a pair of diaper-plumped sweat pants with matching shirt covered, improbably, with a cartoonish, friendly-looking Darth Vader in various poses. He stared up at Rodney, solemnly sucking his thumb.

The kid was surrounded by twenty of his closest friends, all of whom were laughing, crying, screeching, coughing, gurgling, sniffling, and generally being nightmarishly real. Rodney felt a pang of nostalgia for the geese and the blood ocean.

Stepping backward, Rodney felt something crunch under his foot and looked down. Plastic debris in bright primary colors bespoke a Lego creation now in ruins. A boy with flame red hair and a Kool-Aid ring around his lips, wearing a T-shirt encrusted with the remains of various meals and snacks, glared up at him angrily.

“Sorry,” Rodney said. It probably would have sounded more sincere if he’d actually meant it, but he only had so much emotional bandwidth here. The redhead’s features screwed up viciously as he drew back a tiny arm and punched Rodney solidly in the knee.

“Ow! Keep away from me, you little monster!” Rodney grabbed his knee and hobbled away from the redhead. The blond boy had stopped sucking his thumb and now clung to one of Rodney’s pant legs, giggling.

“Stop! Get off!” Straightening, Rodney tried to shake off the kid by spinning around, putting him face-to-belt-buckle with an angelic-looking little dark-skinned girl smiling brightly up at him. Her hair was carefully arranged in little braids that sprang up all over her head like hopeful spring sprouts, and her eyes were alight with the love and generosity of the very young and as yet unjaded. She wore an indigo dress festooned with fanciful daisies with multicolored petals. Her hand was outstretched, offering him a share of her snack.

It was an orange slice. A juicy chunk of respiratory distress. A sticky handful of instant anaphylaxis. _Here’s your snack--would you like suffocation with that?_

With a manly little shriek, Rodney darted away from the gift of manslaughter as well as he could while undergoing the friendly ministrations of Towhead the Tenacious and the vengeful designs of the red-haired Lego warrior. Another little girl, this one with short, stringy brown hair and trails of dried snot under her nose, held up her arms and beseeched, “Up? Up?”

Oh, yeah, sure, he’d be happy to pick her up. Right after his facial at the Ebola spa.

They were swarming him now, each wanting him to play, to referee a dispute, to kiss something better, to read her a book. It was just like when his sister Jeannie forced him to spend time with her daughter, Madison, only with exponentially more Madison. He glanced around the room, noting the view through the windows. This was the top of the tower. All he needed to do was wade through the toddler tidal wave to the door that led outside.

The brown-haired girl wiped her nose very thoroughly on the hem of his uniform jacket.

The transporter that had brought him here emitted a beckoning glow. The pathway back to it was remarkably clear.

Of course it was. His subconscious was trying to herd him away from his self-destructive purpose and back toward safety. It was corralling him with proximity to children, inadvertent death threats, and disgusting bodily fluids and microbes.

What it wasn’t counting on was Rodney’s ability to draw effectively on his experiences as an uncle. Limited though it was, the time he’d spent with Madison had taught him a great deal. He’d learned a lot about young children and how to talk to them. It had been weirdly rewarding and whatnot.

Time to put all that knowledge to a slightly unintended use.

“All right, KNOCK IT OFF RIGHT NOW!” Uncle Rodney bellowed, dropping his voice to its deepest possible pitch. Every one of the kids jumped at the sound, and most of them backed away a little. A couple started to whimper. He pointed at the towhead. “ _You!_ Let go of my leg.” To the redhead: “ _Stop_ hitting me.” Still blaring, he started to move carefully across the room. “ _No_ wiping your nose on me. _Take_ that orange over there. Get _away_ from me with that book. No, I am _not_ going to play trucks.”

As they shrank away from his stern tone and body language, Rodney made gradual progress toward the outside door. “That’s right, you little monsters, keep walkin’.” He was getting close now. Ten feet. Eight feet. Six, five, four…

“Bay…?” A small voice was saying. “Bay. Bay! _Baybaybay!_ ”

Rodney looked down in annoyance to see which little pest had manage to uncow itself. It was a very small girl with wispy black curls. She had huge brown eyes and, apparently, some kind of awful skin condition on her right cheek. “Bay! Bay! Bay!”

The brown-haired girl with the runny nose had returned, too, stretching her arms up toward him with renewed urgency, her small fingers curled like claws. He hadn’t noticed how small and white her teeth were before. Probably because, before, half of each lip hadn’t been _rotting away_.

“Bwains!” demanded the little girl. _“Bwaaiinnss!”_

Feeling his eyes bug out in horror, Rodney did everything possible to contract the rest of him. He yanked his hands upward and twisted his upper body while lifting the leg nearest the little girl, doing a panic-induced pirouette. Even without benefit of a mirror, he knew it was the kind of performance that would have Ronon and Sheppard braying  with mocking laughter.

Of course, neither of them had ever faced a roomful of zombie toddlers, so they could both just eat shit right now.

The kids were all grasping at him, trying to climb his pant legs, doing their best to bite him through his clothes. The bulk of them were piled between him and the door to the outside, but frankly, he was so over this death wish thing. All he cared about now was getting free of the tiny undead rugrats and their tiny oozing hands. He really wished whoever was screaming like a horror movie damsel would stop, because it was starting to hurt his throa–

Oh.

The transporter beckoned again with its strange glow, and he decided it was time to accept the invitation. Running was nigh impossible with the Daycare of the Dead clinging to him, but he shuffled desperately toward the transporter. He was nearly there when his foot landed on a toy truck and sailed out from under him. He hit the floor, face-first, thinking--with a surprising disregard for priorities– _this floor’s  gotta be teeming with germs!_

But that worry slipped _way_ down the list of immediate deadly threats when the zombie toddlers fell upon him.


	10. Condomnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carson and Teyla talk about clothes and sex. I know. Even the interludes are kinda nuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for the kudos, and the comments. Much appreciated!

Carson hurried into the infirmary, grabbed a med kit, and went to the locked cabinet where he kept the sedatives and other drugs with recreational and abuse potential. Selecting several likely candidates, he tried not to think about the uncomfortable possibility that he might shortly live out one of his Rodney revenge fantasies.

The one with the sneaking up and the loaded syringe, not the bag of lemons.

He felt a little ashamed, as though his uncharitable imagination had manifested this terrible situation. God knew, it was highly inappropriate for a physician to harbor such thoughts about patients, even privately. Worse, Rodney was more a just a patient; he was also a friend. A difficult man, perhaps, but still a friend. A petty narcissist with a level of self-absorption that defied quantification, but a friend. A tiresome windbag whose ego could rival a fully-charged ZPM in its raw power. A–

“Carson?”

Carson whirled around, feeling his guilt displayed on his face, until his face was blindsided by the surprise of his visitor’s identity. “Teyla? What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Has something else happened? Has Rodney–”

“Weyuhv heard nothing further from Rodney,” she assured him. “I wanted to speak with you about another matter, and I felt this would be a good time to catch you privately.”

Carson frowned, looking around the infirmary. They were, indeed, alone. He wondered where the rest of the medical staff was. “Well, go on, then.”

“My people… We have very different... ways... from those of your people,” Teyla said. She seemed to be struggling to find just the right words. “Itzzz been… challenging for me to adjust to living with Earth people.”

“Really?” Carson said, genuinely surprised. He began to draw doses of medications into syringes, quickly but with precision, getting them ready. “I suppose it was difficult initially, especially before we knew about your psychic connection to the wraith. But to be honest, I’ve always admired how you made a place for yourself in Atlantis.”

Teyla’s mouth quirked with irony, and Carson was surprised to note, a little bitterness. “In many ways, that place was made _for_ me, not _by_ me.”

He shot her puzzled glance. “I disagree. It’s not easy to come into a completely foreign culture and not only make friends, but win trust and respect. I think you’re selling yourself short, love.”

“I do-unt… Iyuhm not talking about…” Teyla huffed an impatient sigh, looking frustrated. “I do have many friends here. So many people who-uhv become important to me.” She fixed him with a steady look and added, with greater intensity, “But there is more to... I have _other_ needs, as well, Carson.”

He was carefully tucking the filled syringes into the bag as she said this, and it hung in the air for a second or two before slamming into the foreground of his attention. For a fleeting, frightening moment, Carson thought she was asking for him to _meet_ those other needs, and his head was filled with a cacophony of oh, so many kinds of panic. But that cleared up pretty quickly, and he realized what she was really trying to tell him. “Oh.”

Teyla frowned. “‘Oh?’ What do you mean, ‘oh?’”

“Teyla,” he said, checking the med kit one last time to ensure that he had everything he might need, “I’m very glad that you feel comfortable coming to me about this, and I’ll be happy to discuss it in more depth later on. But right now is probably not the best–”

“Discuss it?” Teyla said harshly. Apparently, he’d managed to insult her somehow. “What is there to discuss? I havunnt even told you what I...” She stopped, staring more intently.

Carson hesitated. Perhaps he wasn’t as sure of what she was trying to tell him as he’d thought.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Ancestors, Carson! You think this is about _sex?_ Do-unt tell me that you believe Iyuhm seeking advice about sex from _you._ ”

“No, but I just… _Hold_ on! I know a bloody thing or two about–”

“Do you imagine that I am some inexperienced _child?”_

“Of course not,” he said. “It’s just that… Well, I suppose I assumed that you weren’t… sexually active.”

The mocking laughter issuing from Teyla sounded out of place, and Carson wondered just how far “out of bounds” this gate thing had pushed her. “You believed I wasunnt sexually active for _two and a half years?_ Have you noticed how I dress?”

“Back on Earth, girls dress like that before puberty!” Softening his tone, he said, “Teyla, all this time, I’ve never known you to seem interested in romantic relationships. At least, not with anyone from the Earth expedition. I’ve always assumed that, when you were ready for it, you would look to someone from your own people for that.”

“Oh, I have, indeed,” she confirmed. “I’ve had many liaisons among my people. Athosians are quite free with our pursuit of sexual satisfaction and comfort. When you live in the shadow of the wraith, denying yourself physical pleasure is seen as a waste. We do-unt attach angst and guilt to the act of coupling, as those from Earth often seem to do. We regard sex as healthy fun and engage in it as often as we wish. We practice an extensive ranges of techniques and positions. We teach them to our children when they come of age.”

This had rapidly become a top candidate for most uncomfortable conversation of the month, although it was still second to the call Carson had made to the SGC three weeks ago to explain how he had managed to “find” a coma patient that he’d been unconsciously treating for almost two years.

“But I don’t actually live with my people anymore. And the reason that you thought I was not ‘interested’ in romantic relationships, Carson, is because you do-unt really see me as human. No one in Atlantis does.”

“That’s not true! No one thinks anything of your wraith DNA these days.”

Teyla laughed again, but she looked rather sad. “Iyuhm not talking about my DNA.”

“Well,” Carson said, busying himself with the med kit once more, “I think you’re being daft. Everyone here looks upon you with the utmost respect. You’re a member of the command staff. They look to you for advice on diplomacy. You’re seen as a model for proper offworld comportment, and even in the city, they look to you for sound judgment and… Ah.” He met her eyes, which were still sad, but knowing. “I think I see.”

“Then you are the only one.” For a moment, she sounded like her old self.

Carson realized how little consideration he had ever given to the role they’d all assigned to Teyla: that of the noble, native Pegasus sage. And while he’d certainly taken care to monitor her health and to intervene when he felt she wasn’t giving herself enough rest or recreation, he’d never really thought of her as truly in need of his advice. Teyla was so self-possessed, such a, well… grown-up. That alone distinguished her around this lot. She wasn’t a parent figure--they had Elizabeth for that. Teyla was more like a governess. A teacher, expected to maintain a strict level of decorum. And no one had ever bothered to note this expectation, much less disregard it.

A wave of guilt and empathy threatened to overwhelm Carson, but he was, first and foremost, the head of medicine, and there was the matter of an emergent situation hanging over their heads. “Teyla, I’m sorry, but this is a very bad time for this. Rodney–”

“I understand, of course,” she said at once. But as he zipped up the med kit and started for the door, she blurted, “I need some condoms.”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder, then turned toward her when she held her ground. “What, right now?”

She gestured to indicate the infirmary. “Weyuhr already here.”

“We’re in a bit of a crisis now, Teyla!”

“When are we _not_ in crisis, Carson?”

“Teyla!” he said forcefully. “Rodney’s about to destroy the city with his _imagination_. Is this really the time to be worrying about safe sex?” He listened to what he’d just said. “This is a very strange day we’re having.”

Teyla looked away from him, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though calming herself. “It has been a strange day for weeks.” She met his gaze once more, looking ashamed. “You-uhr right, of course. I shouldunnt be thinking of my needs. There is too much at stake. We must go and–”

“Second drawer.”

“What?”

Carson pointed. “That cabinet, second drawer from the top. Take as many as you need.” He flashed her a quick smile, stayed just long enough to see her begin to return it, and hurried out of the infirmary.

 


	11. Funny, You Don't Look Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Rodney's about to be zombie baby food, he's rescued. I'd go into more detail, but you wouldn't believe it. Just read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know it's been over a week since the last installment. I had some other real-world writing to deal with, so I had to back-burner Braingate. (That's right--I write Braingate in something other than the real world. Explains a lot, doesn't it?)
> 
> Please rest assured that I'm committed to finishing this epic. It will never be left indefinitely unfinished, or may zombie toddlers eat my lying face off.

Buried beneath the brain-seeking diapered undead, Rodney found an unexpected bit of mental clarity. True, the top of his mind was broadcasting a nonstop litany of panic expressed in the form of shrieking and wailing, but underneath _that_ , another part of his mind was able to critically examine the glaring inconsistency of his situation.

To wit: the zombie toddlers were intended by his subconscious to scare him out of jumping from the tower. Now that he’d abandoned that effort, it didn’t make sense for his subconscious to let the zombie toddlers kill him instead. Therefore, either his subconscious was incompetent (which he dismissed as impossible, because, _hello!_ It was his subconscious), or there was a subconscious-induced cavalry on the way.

Unless, of course, the truck that tripped him up had been planted by his conscious, which was intent on going through with this suicide plan, in which case he should compose a sternly-worded message to that part of himself, because being eaten by half-meter tall zombies was absolutely _not_ an acceptable means to going out with a noble, self-sacrificing flourish.

Rodney had curled into a ball, hiking the collar of his jacket over his head and trying to avoid exposing any skin to the decaying children crawling over and tearing at him. As plans went, it really wasn’t one. Unless that cavalry was actually coming.

Right on cue, he heard the transporter door open, followed by sounds he assumed were zombie toddlers being kicked out of someone’s way. Sheppard was here! Or Ronon or Teyla. Or Sheppard _and_ Ronon and Teyla. Who cared who it was? _Someone_ had responded to his vital need and come to his rescue.

The zombie children howled and hissed a horrible cacophony. A hand firmly gripped  Rodney’s jacket behind the neck and hauled him up, half-dragging him toward the transporter. The force that launched him into the transporter (and against its back wall) owed little to the work of Rodney’s own legs. He crumpled to the floor in blessed relief as the door closed. The scratching of tiny hands and the anger of tiny decomposing vocal cords could still be heard on the other side.

“OhGodohGodohGodohGod,” Rodney chanted. He  was rolling around, trying to get his jelly-like limbs to support him. “I can’t tell you how--you got here just in the--if you’d shown up just a _little_ \--although you _could’ve_ gotten here before they started--no, no, I’m just reallyreally _really_ glad to see you,” he took a hand that helped him to his feet and finally looked up, “--Kolya.”

Rodney stared in open-mouthed shock as Atlantis’ rogue-Genii nemesis, Acastus Kolya, smiled down on him, all dark-eyed, scar-faced menace. “I’m very surprised to hear you say that, Dr. McKay.” Kolya’s smile broadened as he added, “Especially since I’ve come to kill you.”

A lot of reactions fought for dominance in Rodney’s head, but the one that emerged to the surface was… laughter. It burst from his lips like the first gush of a newly-discovered oil well and, then, simply failed to stabilize, bubbling over like toxic froth from a chemistry experiment left untended. It cascaded out of him in waves, bouncing off the walls of the tiny room as though his mouth were a tennis-ball launcher stuck in the “on” mode.

Kolya’s expression shifted from initial amusement to mild annoyance to _that’s quite enough of this._ Rodney couldn’t have said why, but that just made things more hilarious. He was a little disturbed, honestly, by his inability to stop laughing. Fortunately, Kolya found the perfect solution in grabbing Rodney by the throat and slamming him up against the wall. Airway blocked equalled laughter suppressed.

Nothing like a sudden bout of suffocation to make quick work of rising hysteria. Of course, being unable to breathe created its own brand of hysteria, but at least Rodney found himself able to think again.

“It’s good to find you in such high spirits, doctor,” Kolya said. “Although I doubt you’ll find anything funny–” here, Kolya drew a long, curved knife from somewhere, “--in what I’m about to do.”

Rodney flinched at the sight of the knife, drawing another broad smile from Kolya. Rodney really missed the way Kolya had behaved during their first encounter when he’d seized control of the city. _That_ Kolya had barely smiled at all. Somehow, these toothy grins just made the man more creepy.

The pressure on Rodney’s throat had relaxed a bit. Not enough to allow him to speak, but at least he could draw breath. He knew because he could hear himself panting as the knife drew closer. This time, there was nothing Rodney could give up to stop the pain; Kolya wasn’t here for information or even control of Atlantis. He was only here because Rodney’s conscious had conjured him to, well… Oh.

_Oh._

Okay, sure, being carved to death by a sadistic psychopath wasn’t a graceful swan dive to oblivion, but it also wasn’t being chewed up by pint-sized ravenous revenants. And maybe he could strike a deal with Kolya, get him to kill Rodney quickly, with a minimum of torture. Maybe even zero torture. If only he had something to trade that Kolya would…

Rodney widened his eyes and burst into a wide grin, snapping his fingers repeatedly. Kolya’s eye narrowed, but the hand with the knife stopped moving. When the hand around Rodney’s throat didn’t relax, Rodney rolled his eyes and gave a look designed to convey, _Ahem? Need my vocal cords, here._

Kolya released Rodney’s throat and Rodney sagged away from the wall, overcome by a mild fit of coughing that widened the airway to something close to its original capacity. When the coughing ceased, Rodney began, “So, what I’m th–”

Kolya pushed him back against the wall and pinned him there with the knife at his throat.

“Oh, perfect,” Rodney said caustically. “Thank goodness you found a way to reassert yourself as the alpha male in this transporter. I was seriously in danger of thinking that I might have the upper hand. You know, there _are_ other persuasive tactics besides _violent_ intimidation. Verbal intimidation works a treat. Sometimes with my science team–”

The knife pushed harder against his throat. “Dr. McKay,” Kolya purred, “please don’t make me regret allowing you to speak.”

“Right, good point.” Rodney started to swallow, thought better of it given the blade, and licked his lips instead. “So what I was thinking was, you’re always after some C-4, right? I assume you’re still in the market for it? I mean, if you’re still trying to overthrow Ladon for the Genii leadership. Even if you’re not, I suppose it would be useful to–”

“If you could get to your point, doctor,” Kolya interrupted. He’d stopped all the smiling. Rodney was disappointed to note that it didn’t comfort him as much as he’d expected.

“Right, so my point is, I can take you to the C-4. You can have it. All of it! All I ask in return is–”

“That I let you live,” Kolya guessed.

“Nope.” Rodney grinned, folding his arms. Carefully, because of the knife still at his throat.

“That I let your Atlantis inhabitants live.”

“No. I mean, yes! Of course, that’s a given. Not what I was getting at, though.”

Kolya looked down at the floor for a long moment--long enough for Rodney to start feeling self-conscious about his shoes--then met Rodney’s eyes with his cold, dark ones again. “Dr. McKay, have our previous encounters led you to believe that I might be the sort of man who enjoys guessing games?”

“Uh… no, not really. Okay, here’s the deal. I give you the C-4, and you give me… a quick death.”

Kolya looked surprised. Rodney plunged ahead, enumerating his points as though counting on his fingers.

“By quick death, I mean: No torture, no beating, no leaving me for dead in agony with a mortal wound. No drowning, no strangulation, no bleeding to death. Just a quick, clean death strike.”

Kolya stared into his eyes so intently that Rodney swore he could feel holes being drilled into his retinas. “You _want_ me to kill you.”

Even though it was true, Rodney’s voice cracked as he said, “Yes.”

“You want me to _kill_ you.”

“Are you doing that thing where you emphasize a different word each time to see how it changes the meaning? Because I’ve always found that game annoying.”

“Why would you, of all people, want me to kill you?”

“Well, I didn’t. I mean, it didn’t have to be _you_. It’s just, I seem to be having a hell of a time getting it done myself, and since you came to kill me anyway–”

“You’ve never struck me,” Kolya said, “as a man prone to suicide.”

“Oh, I never have been,” Rodney assured him. “I wouldn’t be now, if circumstances were different, believe me. But there’s something wrong, _really_ wrong, and I’m about to… Well, let’s just say it’s better for everyone if I just… die quickly.”

Kolya got a funny, sort of understanding look on his face, and he finally lowered the knife. “I see. So, you’re ill.”

“Say again?”

“You have a terminal illness, and you prefer to go out on your own terms and spare your loved ones the pain of watching your decline. I can respect that.”

Rodney felt his features forming an expression that he knew usually accompanied words like, “What? Are you an idiot or something?”, which would certainly ruin the nice little moment he and Kolya were having. He made an effort to reform it into the expression of a man staring his mortality in the face and bearing it nobly, his thoughts only for his friends a family.

“Are you having some sort of attack now?” Kolya asked, looking skeptical.

Rolling his eyes, Rodney said, “Look, do we have a deal or not? Because all of Atlantis is currently looking for me, frantic to prevent my impending suicide. So if we’re gonna do this…”

Kolya folded his arms and studied Rodney, which would have been uncomfortable from across a large room with a wall of safety glass between them. From a foot away in a transporter, it was nearly bladder-emptying. When he spoke, his smooth voice was quiet and deliberate. “If this is some kind of trap, McKay, I will gut you like a fish. I will leave you on the floor trying to stuff your intestines back inside you. Do you understand?”

Licking suddenly dry lips, Rodney only nodded spastically, not trusting his voice. _How could anyone not understand that?_ he thought. When Kolya reached for him, he damn near did wet himself, until he realized the man was simply laying a hand on Rodney’s shoulder.

“But if I get the C-4, as agreed, I will honor my promise of a quick death.”

Rodney clapped his hands together in finality. “Great!”

“Your life will end in an instant. You will feel no pain. I give you my word.”

“Right,” Rodney said. “Good. Thank you.”

“I will kill you, quickly and cleanly. It will be a good, honorable death.”

“Thanks.” Rodney’s stomach felt like it was executing an evacuation drill. Punching at the transporter controls, he said shakily, “Shall we go?”

He had an image of himself on Death Row leading his own executioner to the gas chamber. Nothing was ever normal in this goddamn galaxy.

 


	12. In Space, No One Cares About Patient Confidentiality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue team arrive at the stasis room. Rodney's not there to be rescued, so they spend the time coming up with a way to further screw things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all the kudos, and for sticking with me on this absurdist journey. I really appreciate it!

Running full-tilt through the city–or at least, full-tilt for a civilian expedition leader who rarely left Atlantis and never trained for combat–had taken a toll on Elizabeth. Her lungs were burning, her calves were tightening, and she was sure her uniform top was sporting substantial sweat rings under her arms. Ironic, given that one of the cardinal rules a skilled negotiator lived by was, _Never let them see you sweat._

It was interesting to note how the others in the group were handling the situation by the time they reached the stasis room. Sheppard seemed barely winded and prowled the room like a guard dog. Heightmeyer, whom Elizabeth wouldn’t have pegged for a runner, was apparently little taxed by the exertion, but looked as though, emotionally, she could use a nice glass of wine and maybe some time on her own couch. Zelenka, predictably, limped into the room holding his side and gasping for breath, which made Elizabeth feel a bit smug. She tried to hide it by patting his arm supportively.

Ronon, of course, looked as though he’d just awakened from a refreshing nap.

Sheppard was clearly agitated, and Elizabeth thought again that “transformation” really wasn’t too strong a word for the recent changes in his personality. “He’s not here,” he said, more aggressively than seemed strictly warranted. He stalked over to Zelenka and shouted, “Where is he? You said Rodney would be here!”

The little Czech was shaking his head, trying to speak between panting breaths. “I don’t know. Perhaps we beat him here.”

“Or,” Sheppard said intently, “maybe you were wrong.”

Zelenka glanced up at the colonel and shook his head. “It’s possible,  of course, but I don’t think so. More likely, something has delayed him. Perhaps interference from his conscious fears or the responses of his subconscious.”

“Yeah, or else you’ve been wrong all along,” Sheppard repeated, “and Rodney actually _is_ suicidal. Maybe he’s out there trying to kill himself right now.”

“Or already dead,” Ronon said.

“He’s not dead,” Sheppard said emphatically.

“Could be,” Ronon said, unflappable.

Elizabeth suddenly felt a lot more uneasy. “Ronon, do you really think Rodney’s capable of killing himself?”

Shrugging lazily, the Satedan said, “Why not?”

“I’ll tell you why not!” Zelenka said. “Because he expends tremendous effort every day  to ensure his own comfort, worrying that he is ill or might become ill, and complaining about every imaginable–or imaginary–physical ailment. He fears pain the way most people fear death! Imagine how afraid he must be of death itself. Besides which, he believes he is indispensable for the survival of the city.”

Ronon shrugged again. “Yeah, but when the pressure’s really on, he’ll put himself on the line. ‘Specially if he’s tryin’ to protect his friends.” He paused before adding, “Still annoying, though.”

“Very,” Zelenka muttered, cleaning his glasses. But his face was drawn with worry.

Elizabeth put a hand to her forehead, gritting her teeth in frustration. “So, are we now entertaining the idea that Rodney’s _not_ coming to put himself into stasis? After wasting precious time running halfway through the city utterly _convinced_ that he would be here?”

“Yeah, big guy,” Sheppard growled, turning on Ronon. “You couldn’t have voiced this opinion when we first discussed Rodney’s state of mind?”

Ronon nodded toward Heightmeyer. “ _She_ seemed to buy the stasis thing, and she’s s’posed to know what’s in people’s heads.”

As all eyes turned toward Heightmeyer, the psychologist looked defensive–and maybe a little wild-eyed. “Oh, no,” she said, lifting a hand, “don’t try to put this on me. I provide _counseling_ , not mind-reading. And even if I did read minds–” she gave a bitter little laugh–“I can’t imagine trying to make sense of _Rodney’s_.”

Sensing a career-jeopardizing and time-consuming meltdown, Elizabeth tried to intervene. “Uh, Kate–”

“Do you know that in a session two weeks ago, he spoke non-stop for ten full minutes and never finished a single sentence? Think about it! A ten-minute monologue consisting entirely of Rodney interrupting himself.”

“Kate!” Elizabeth tried again, but the other woman was in the engineer’s seat on the Rantastic Express.

“And you think that I should have somehow just _known_ what he would do in this insane situation? _I’m_ not the one who worked with him for months in Antarctica planning this expedition. _I_ don’t labor side-by-side with him in the science labs all day. I don’t spend _hours_ with him in intense situations on off-world missions. No, I’m just the one who gets to listen to his petty jealousies and his paranoia and his hypochondria and his fear that his receding hairline is somehow impacting the size of his...”

Heightmeyer trailed off, her brain finally catching up to her tirade. For a moment she just gaped at them in horror, then turned away, covering her face with her hands. “I think I need a vacation,” she said in a very small voice.

“I’m here!” Beckett announced, huffing and puffing as he ran in, followed by Teyla. Taking the temperature of the room by their faces, particularly Kate’s, the doctor’s eyes took on a stricken look. “Oh, no. Are we too late? Did Rodney–”

“Zelenka was wrong,” Ronon said. “McKay’s not here.”

“It’s still possible he’s on his way here,” Zelenka insisted, tossing Ronon a dark look.

“All right,” Elizabeth said in a take-charge manner she really didn’t feel, “we need a plan. We have no way to locate Rodney, and he could be anywhere in the city.”

Sheppard put his hand to his earpiece. “This is Sheppard. Go ahead.” He listened briefly, suddenly tense. “Did you say _Kolya?”_

“Kolya?” Elizabeth repeated loudly. “What about Kolya?”

But Sheppard was already talking into the radio again. “They were coming out of a transporter? Where were they headed?”

“Who?” Elizabeth said, frustrated. “Kolya and who?”

“If you’d use your radio…” Sheppard hissed. Speaking into the earpiece: “How’d McKay look? Was he hurt?”

“Rodney?” Elizabeth asked. “Kolya has Rodney?”

“Stand by,” Sheppard said impatiently, then turned to Elizabeth. “A security patrol spotted them from a distance. Said McKay’s all right, as far as she could tell, but they’re moving fast.” Into the earpiece, he said, “Keep them in visual range, but do not engage. I’m sending backup. Keep me updated on their movements.”

“How did Kolya get into the city?” Teyla demanded, frowning in puzzlement.

“Not a clue,” Sheppard said, hitting the earpiece again. “Sheppard to Lorne.” Seeing Elizabeth, Beckett, and Zelenka exchanging looks, he scowled. “What?”

“Nothing,” the three of them said, not quite in unison, looking everywhere but at him or each other.

“Kolya’s infiltrated Atlantis,” Sheppard was saying into the radio. He paused for a response. “... We don’t know yet, but he’s got McKay, so I’m pretty sure it’s a kidnapping. Security has eyes on them, and I want a strike team in the jumper bay five minutes ago. I’ll meet you there. Sheppard out.”

“You think he’ll try to take Rodney out of here in a jumper?” Elizabeth asked skeptically. “Because he has to know we’d never allow it to leave.”

Sheppard shrugged. He wasn’t meeting her eye and his face had a stony, closed-off look that told her he was reacting more out of emotion than sober military strategy. “Maybe he thinks we’d let them leave rather than risk Rodney’s life.”

“I think he knows by now that we don’t negotiate with kidnappers, John,” she said quietly. She was very busy trying not to think about how they’d been forced to watch Kolya’s livestream of a captive wraith feeding on Sheppard, but she knew the colonel was busier trying not to relive it.

“Well, I’m open to other potential scenarios,” Sheppard said hotly. “If he’s not planning to escape by jumper, and he’s not stupid enough to think we’d let him take Rodney through the gate on foot, what’s his plan?”

The question hung in the air like a bad smell no one wanted to claim until Zelenka offered tentatively, “Well, it’s possible he’s only here to… kill Rodney.”

Elizabeth gave him a flat stare. “ _Only_ here to kill him?”

The scientist waved his hands as though trying to erase his misstatement. “No, no, I mean that it’s perhaps his only purpose. That he got into the city not by exploiting a security weakness, but because Rodney’s own fears materialized him.”

“You think Rodney’s imagination could’ve brought the actual, real Kolya to Atlantis,” Elizabeth said doubtfully.

“Well, a version of him, I suspect. A version that behaves the way Rodney would expect and fear.”

“I can’t base my military response on your speculation that Kolya is a figment of Rodney’s imagination.” Sheppard said.

“Not a figment,” Zelenka said firmly. “These fears that Rodney is manifesting are copies, perhaps, but they are physically quite real. And potentially lethal.”

“Yeah,” Ronon deadpanned, “those geese looked like they meant business.”

Elizabeth had the feeling that no one in the room could quite tell whether he was being sarcastic.

“Dr. Zelenka,” Teyla said, reminding everyone that she could speak, “if Rodney’s fears manifested Kolya, and Kolya’s purpose is to kill him, why didunnt Kolya kill him immediately?”

Zelenka looked thoughtful. “Perhaps Rodney’s subconscious defended him.”

“And then what?” Beckett demanded. “The two of them decided to take a lovely stroll together through the city?”

Thrusting his hands in the air, Zelenka said, “Apparently! How do you expect me to have all the answers?”

“Because you’re the expert on this manifesting stuff!” Sheppard yelled.

“I’m not an expert,” Zelenka shouted back, “I’m just conjecturing! And yelling won’t help me to magically come up with the answers you seek.”

“Seems to work with McKay,” Ronon observed.

“I am not McKay!”

“No kidding!” Sheppard barked.

Elizabeth held up a hand like a schoolteacher calling for silence. “Let’s go back to Kolya’s purpose for a second. We know that Rodney’s afraid of Kolya, so Radek’s theory that he was manifested by Rodney’s conscious fears makes sense. But a witness says that Rodney’s _with_ Kolya and appears to be fine. Is it possible that Rodney’s subconscious has co-opted Kolya somehow? Or that Rodney has consciously turned Kolya to his own purpose now?”

There was a brief, heavy silence before Zelenka said, “Possibly. Yes.”

Sheppard looked grave. Elizabeth shivered slightly, surprised by how much more frightening he could be with serious hair.

“So the question is,” he said slowly, “what’s McKay planning to have Kolya do?”

Frowning, Zelenka said, “I don’t follow.”

Beckett apparently did. “Hold on, now, Colonel. You can’t be thinking _Rodney_ is the threat, now.”

“Isn’t that why we’ve been chasing all over trying to find him?” Sheppard said. “Because his fantasies were a threat to the city?”

“Yes, his fantasies! Not Rodney himself.”

“I don’t have the luxury of making that distinction anymore. Not when he’s created and taken control of one of Atlantis’ most dangerous enemies.”

“We don’t actually know that Rodney has control of Kolya,” Elizabeth said quickly. “It’s only a theory. Total speculation, really.” She hadn’t expected anyone to take her idea this seriously. She was a decision-maker, not a brainstormer.

“John,” Teyla said, her face reflecting Elizabeth’s sense of alarm, “Rodney would never intentionally do anything to harm Atlantis. You know that.”

“The Rodney I know couldn’t turn coffee into lemonade and make Kolyas out of thin air,” Sheppard responded. “I don’t know anything about what _this_ McKay might do.”

“Colonel Sheppard, he’s the same Rodney you’ve always known,” Zelenka said urgently, almost pleadingly. “He’s just caught in a strange set of circumstances, and he’s afraid.”

Sheppard hesitated, and Elizabeth thought she saw the old John, the one who made the terrible plans and obsessed over never leaving anyone behind, looking through those hazel eyes. Suddenly, he tapped his earpiece. “Sheppard here… What? Okay, leave a team at the jumper bay and get the rest to the armory. I’m on my way.”

“What’s going on?” Elizabeth demanded.

Sheppard turned a brittle gaze on her. “Turns out you were right. They _weren’t_ headed for the jumpers. Good ol’ Rodney just let Kolya into the armory and headed straight for the supply of C-4.”

“We have Marines on duty in the armory. How’d they get past them?”

“Seems poor victim-of-circumstances McKay knocked them all out. We’re not even sure they’re still alive.”

“That can’t be right,” Beckett said, a tremor in his voice.

“No,” Sheppard said coldly, “but I’m gonna _make_ it right.” He slapped the earpiece again. “Sheppard to Lorne. You are to consider Dr. McKay an enemy combatant… You heard me right. He may not appear to be armed, but he’s definitely dangerous. Engage only from a distance, with plenty of cover. If necessary… shoot to kill. Sheppard out.”

“John,” Elizabeth said, “stop this. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m thinking about the safety of this city,” Sheppard snarled. “We all care about McKay, but he’s a clear and present danger in his current condition.”

“Maybe, but his condition might be temporary! We owe it to him to take him alive and try to fix this.”

“And how many lives are you willing to give to get that done, Elizabeth?”

“At least amend your shoot-to-kill order,” Elizabeth said. “We have wraith stunners, for God’s sake!”

“Yes, we do,” Sheppard agreedly coolly. “They’re all in the armory.” Saying to Ronon, “With me,” he headed toward the door.

Ronon moved into his path, blocking the doorway, just as Beckett stuck a needle in the colonel’s neck. Whatever was in it worked fast, taking Sheppard down with barely a sound.

“If I’m out of line, I’ll take my punishment,” Beckett said, “but I couldn’t let him–”

“I’ll back you,” Elizabeth said instantly. “And eventually, John will probably thank you.”

“What do we do now?” Zelenka asked. He looked small and pale.

“I’m gonna find McKay,” Ronon said, apparently unconcerned with such trivialities as the chain of command.

“Iyuhhl come with you,” Teyla told him.

“You should probably take Sheppard to the infirmary,” Ronon said. “He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up. Someone who can handle him oughta be there. Plus, you’re the only one here with a radio. For some reason.”

Without another word, he left the room and loped down the corridor. Elizabeth watched, wondering if he had always run so gracefully and she’d just never noticed. Then Beckett cleared his throat meaningfully and she realized they were all looking to her for leadership.

“Carson, you and Teyla take John to the infirmary. Radek, let’s get to the control room.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Try to regain some control,” she said.

They were nearly out of the room when Heightmeyer blurted, “What about me? What do you want me to do?”

Thinking about it, Elizabeth said, “Stay here, in case Rodney does show up. Try to distract him until someone gets here.”

Wide-eyed, the psychologist said, “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Elizabeth glared at her. “Try telling him that his hair looks thinner than the last time you saw him.”

And she strode out of the room.

 

 


	13. Mr. Sandman, Send Me A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodney puts everybody to sleep. This time, without talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all still enjoying the ride. I think we're getting close to finishing this epic!

Rodney was mildly surprised at the general lack of uproar as he and Kolya traveled briskly toward the armory. One would think that openly walking the halls of Atlantis alongside one of its most notorious enemies would attract a fair amount of attention, but most of the people they passed only nodded to Rodney and gave a curious glance at his companion. One of his newest idiot underlings even stopped him to ask for a signoff on some research findings. He didn’t give it, of course. A quick glance through the paperwork told him that her analysis was flawed and her conclusions unsupported. He scribbled a scathing note on it and told her to take it to Zelenka. As he and Kolya walked on, he felt a little pang, knowing that he wouldn’t be there to send her back to Earth on the next rotation of the Daedalus.

So many things he’d never get to do.

Kolya broke into his melancholy reverie before it really got a chance to get going. “I thought you said your people were scouring the city to find you before you could commit suicide, Dr. McKay. No one here seems very alarmed.”

“Yes, well, I may have exaggerated the number of people involved in the actual scouring,” Rodney said, nonchalant. “It’s not like I’ve shared my, uh, _illness_ with the rank and file, after all. Only the command staff, my off-world team, and my upper level science staff are fully aware of the situation.”

“Still,” Kolya said with a slight frown, “I would have expected more reaction to _my_ presence, at least.”

“Well, think about it. Most of them know you only by reputation. Relatively few members of the expedition have actually seen you in person, and none of them would expect you to be walking around Atlantis like you belong here. Maybe they’d recognize you if you were, oh, say, gunning people down or feeding someone to a wraith.” Rodney offered a weak laugh to pass it off as a joke between pals.

But Kolya only smiled faintly, looking straight ahead. “Or carving your forearm with a knife?”

Clutching his right arm reflexively, Rodney swallowed and faked a dry chuckle. He still occasionally woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares of the improbable and strangely indistinct torture Kolya had used to extract information from Rodney when he’d invaded the city that first year. Fortunately, there had been no lasting nerve or tissue damage or even any scarring.

“Anyway, we’re getting close to the armory,” he said. “Unlike the general city population, our military personnel are pretty well-versed in Kolya prep, so we’re more likely to run into trouble there.”

“That’s all right,” Kolya said, patting a wicked-looking sidearm. “I’ll handle it.”

“Um, _no_ , that’s definitely not part of our agreement,” Rodney said. “Nobody gets hurt. Well, except me, of course, but I’m not getting hurt so much as getting suddenly dead, as per your solemnly given word.”

“If they attack, I will have no choice but to defend myself. If they manage to kill or capture me, I can’t honor our agreement to kill you.”

“It won’t come to that,” Rodney assured him, with a certainty he most definitely didn’t feel. “Just leave the military to me.”

“McKay, do I need to point out that I am in control here?” Kolya asked conversationally. “I could simply put a bullet in your head first, then deal with the military myself and take the C-4.”

“Oh, and that would work out just great for you, don’t you think?” Rodney said, turning and folding his arms. “Even if you’re successful with your sidearm and really big knife in a _firefight_ with the Marines in the armory–where, as the name implies, we keep all the lethal _weapons_ and _ammunition_ –you’ll still have to deal with the _rest_ of our military troops–including Colonel “Wraith Food” Sheppard– _and_ find a way to get out of the city. You don’t have the gene to operate our ships, and even if you did, the control room will have both the bay doors and the gateroom _locked down._ Not to mention the fact that you’ll have murdered the vitally needed and much-beloved _head scientist,_ and I don’t think Sheppard is going to appreciate that. So yeah, while you’ll certainly have solved _my_ problem, _your_ problems will be just beginning, my friend.”

Kolya bore this speech with disturbingly good grace, which made Rodney a little uneasy, but he forgot about that when he caught a glimpse over the Genii’s shoulder of a female Marine watching them from a distance. She appeared to be talking, probably reporting to Sheppard via radio that Kolya was in the city with McKay. That meant that the colonel would probably turn up just in time to ruin everything.

“You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Dr. McKay,” Kolya was saying.

“Yeah, good, great,” Rodney said absently. “C’mon, we need to get moving.”

They made good time after that, arriving at the armory without military molestation. Rodney assumed that Sheppard had given the Marine who’d spotted them orders to follow without engaging.

Along the way, he’d formulated a scenario that would allow them to get into the armory and get the C-4 without confronting the Marines on duty. At the armory entrance, Rodney stopped. “Okay, here’s the plan. I–”

But Kolya threw an arm around Rodney’s neck and thrust the muzzle of his sidearm under his jaw. “I’ll take it from here, McKay.”

“What?” Rodney squeaked. “No, this is–”

Stepping into the armory brandishing Rodney as a shield, Kolya bellowed to the seven or eight Marines present, “You will all stay exactly where you are. You will drop any weapons. If anyone fails to follow my instructions, I will decorate this room with Dr. McKay’s valuable brain matter.”

“Colorful,” Rodney rasped, clutching the arm locked around his neck. “This is a bad idea, a very, very–”

Kolya tightened the arm enough to quiet him, murmuring into Rodney’s ear with unnerving intimacy, “I gave you my word. Your death will be quick and clean.”

“Nrmghf,” Rodney whimpered. He knew these Marines (well, in a general sense–it’s not like he knew all of them as actual _people_ ), and he’d noticed a few of them exchanging meaningful glances. The value of his brain matter notwithstanding, there was no way they would all placidly stand by while Kolya used him as a hostage and purloined the C-4. They would assume that Kolya was planning to kill Rodney anyway, and they would put up a fight.

There would be bullets exchanged in both directions, probably quite a lot of them. At least one or two would likely find their way into Rodney’s body. There would be blood and pain, exactly what this bargain had been intended to prevent, especially the pain. And incidentally, some of these Marines would get hurt and maybe killed, because yes, Kolya was just one man, but he was one mean, _battle-hardened_ man who probably knew thirty-seven ways to kill someone with paper clip, and he wouldn’t go down without taking some people with him, and oh, _God,_ Rodney didn’t want that on his conscience on top of all the other people from this expedition who’d died on his watch. Sometimes dying while he watched.

In the second before one of the Marines could make whatever move they might be planning, Rodney closed his eyes and focused. He’d come up with this plan on the fly and it certainly wasn’t anyone’s idea of brilliant, but it should get the job done without the shedding of blood. Least of all, his.

Way back in his early childhood, his parents had hired an elderly neighbor to babysit Rodney while they were out of town at a conference for a weekend. This woman, whose name he had long ago consigned to the bonfire of his memory, insisted on reading to him from books of fairy tales and regaling him with preposterous stories of mythological beings. He had let her know just how much stock he put into that, because maybe he was only three or four, but Rodney already knew that Santa Claus was a fiction perpetrated by manipulative adults on weak-minded children.

But one story of hers had managed to haunt him throughout his mostly rational childhood: that of the Sandman. It made sense that he couldn’t brush this one off, really; a strange man coming into children’s bedrooms in the middle of the night and throwing a foreign substance into their _eyes?_ How is that not the stuff of nightmares?

Anyway, it had taken weeks for him to sleep alone in his own room after that, and his parents had never used that woman’s childcare services again. Rodney had long ago outgrown his irrational fear, but now he opened himself up to it, reaching back to relive those long hours alone in his darkened room with the perfectly to-scale mobile of the solar system dangling from the ceiling, imagining a man creeping magically into the room, plunging a hand into a pouch and retrieving a handful of something powdery…

He felt Kolya tense just before he heard the sounds of bodies hitting the floor. Opening his eyes, Rodney saw the last of the Marines crumpling harmlessly as a very short, balding man with gray hair and glasses and wearing a lab coat looked around the room. His gaze held an almost childlike curiosity. His hands held a device that looked something like a price-checker from a retail store.

His face brightened into a smile when he caught sight of Rodney. “Oh, hi, Dr. McKay.” Then, taking note of Kolya and the gun, he stammered, “And, uh, well… hello.”

“Who is this?” Kolya demanded. “How did he get here?”

“It’s Dr. Bill Lee,” Rodney said, impatiently pushing out of Kolya’s arms. When the Genii started to aim his sidearm at Lee, Rodney said, “Oh, just stop,” and slapped it down, because apparently, he’d taken the safety clean off of his brain. He moved toward the other scientist. “I call up the Sandman, and I get _you?_ Seriously, how does _that_ work?”

Dr. Lee shook his head as though equally puzzled before looking down at the device he held. “Oh, probably because of this!” He smiled again, because Lee was nothing if not stupidly cheerful. “I call it the Nighty-Night. It’s based on a commercial stun gun that incapacitates subjects with a blast of extremely bright light. Only the Nighty-Night simply acts directly on the parts of the brain that are affected by that kind of visual overload. So, there’s no need for actual light, and you can control who gets the effect.”

“Huh,” Rodney said, interested in spite of himself. “That’s not bad. Uh… long term effects?”

“None. We think it will be really useful for things like Goa’uld infiltrations and mind control situations. Or when someone’s just hell-bent on doing something really stupid and you don’t want to hurt them, just stop them.”

Rodney nearly asked, _How_ is _Dr. Kavanagh, by the way?_ but instead said, “How long does it last?”

“Oh, I just started testing it, but I estimate they’ll probably be out for five minutes or so.”

“Perfect.” Rodney turned to Kolya. “Let’s find a hand truck and start loading up the C-4.”

Kolya was glaring at him. He was clearly confused, and he wasn’t the type of man to enjoy the sensation. “Please explain how Dr. Lee came to be here, Dr. McKay.”

“Yeah, how’d you do that?” Lee said with a golden retriever-like enthusiasm.

Rodney hesitated. He hadn’t prepared a pat answer for such a question, and he didn’t want to tell the truth. So far, Kolya hadn’t stopped to wonder how he himself had come to Atlantis or why his mission was to kill Rodney. He was unlikely to react well to the news that he was merely a manifestation of Rodney’s conscious fears or that Rodney was using him to keep the city safe from such manifestations.

“He’s a… a hologram,” Rodney blurted.

“Wow, really?” Lee said, holding out his hands and staring at them. “I’m really good. Did you use Ancient tech to make this?”

“Of course,” Rodney said, irritated and nervous. He turned back to Kolya. “It’s an experimental scientific interface.”

“One that is capable of incapacitating your own security forces,” Kolya said dryly.

“That was me,” Rodney said. “I gave it the order.”

“How? I had you physically restrained. You couldn’t have input commands into the system.”

“Ah,” Rodney said, tapping his own temple with one finger. “Key words: _physically_ restrained. Fortunately, I possess the Ancient gene, so the technology responds to my mental commands.”

“Hey, if I’m not the real Dr. Lee, what about my kids?”

“What?”

“I have two kids,” Lee said. “Now, are those part of my programming, or do I just remember the real Dr. Lee’s kids? Or did you make holograms of the kids, too?”

“Yes, of course! We made a complete nuclear family for our experimental science interface. Right down to a house in the suburbs and a white picket fence!”

“Well, you don’t have to get snippy,” Lee said, wounded. He suddenly looked haunted. “Wait, _is_ there a real Dr. Lee? Or do I just have fake memories of a fake life? Because if so, that nasty divorce seems a little unnecess–”

“McKay, shut off the hologram,” Kolya ordered. He was stuffing C-4 from a crate into a couple of U.S. military-issue backpacks.

“Oh, right. Uh, shutting it off.” Rodney made a show of closing his eyes and straining mentally. “Huh. Something’s wrong. The program won’t shut down.”

“He’s right,” Lee said helpfully. “I’m still on.”

“Well,” Rodney said, trying to sound brisk even though his stomach was turning flip-flops, “I guess it’s time, huh?”

“For what?” Kolya said, zipping the backpacks.

“Our deal? I’ve held up my end. Now it’s… it’s time for you to, uh… to…”

Kolya picked up the backpacks and looked Rodney in the eye. “I gave you my word, McKay, and I will keep it. However, you haven’t quite delivered on your end yet.”

Outraged, Rodney sputtered, “I so did! I said I’d get you the C-4, and there it is. Mission accomplished.”

“You do have the C-4,” Lee affirmed.

“I have the C-4, but no way to get it out of the city,” Kolya said. “As you so thoroughly explained, I can’t hope to leave Atlantis on my own.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Lee said thoughtfully.

“But with you as a gene-bearing hostage, I can use one of your ships and force Dr. Weir to let us through the gate. Once we arrive safely on another planet, I will kill you as we agreed.”

“Well, that sounds reasonable,” Lee said. “Wait, kill…?”

“Now, hold on,” Rodney said, his voice climbing in pitch. “I never agreed to be part of a getaway plan.” These manifestations had too damn much mind of their own.

“You never specifically refused to be part of one, either,” Kolya said with that slight smile. He came forward and seized the front of Rodney’s shirt and jacket, pulling him close as his other hand drew the really big knife again. “If you choose to do so, I will consider our agreement dissolved. Do you remember what I said I would do if you backed out?”

Lee cleared his throat. “Um, I don’t remember. I mean, I wasn’t there, so…”

“There’s a whole fish-gut thing,” Rodney said tremulously, staring at the knife. “Intestines. Really unpleasant.”

“What’s your answer, McKay?”

Rodney really, really, _really_ didn’t want to be gutted, if only because he had hoped to live his entire life without ever touching anyone’s intestines. But he couldn’t put Elizabeth into the position of deciding, again, whether to cave to Kolya’s extortion to save one of her friends.

Maybe being gutted wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would kill him.

Eventually.

“McKay?” Kolya said, shaking Rodney a little for emphasis.

“I won’t help you escape,” Rodney said. It would have been a lot more badass if he hadn’t sounded like a male soprano.

“Oh, dear,” Lee said faintly. “I… really wish I knew how to turn myself off.”

“So do I!”

Kolya lowered the knife and laid the point under Rodney’s navel. “This is going to hurt,” he said, smiling.

“So will this,” growled another voice, just as a familiar _clink-whine_ sounded, followed by a small blast. Kolya crumpled, the knife clattering to the floor beside him.

“Ronon!” Rodney breathed as his teammate strode toward him.

“Oh, now that is the definition of good timing,” Lee said, beaming.

Ronon looked him over, then looked at Rodney. “Another manifestation?”

“Hologram, actually,” Lee corrected.

Rodney stared at Ronon. “You… know about those, huh.”

“Yeah. You’ve made a mess.”

“Hey, I’ve been trying to put a stop to it! It’s amazing how hard it is to commit suicide when your subconscious isn’t on board. Kolya was supposed to give me a quick death, but he’s an asshole, so…”

“Why didn’t you come to _me?”_ Ronon came close, holding his gun pointed upward, displaying it. “I thought we were friends, McKay.”

“Uh, sure. Of course we are.” Rodney looked up at him. Was Ronon offering to do what Kolya had promised? Maybe it _would_ be better coming from a friend.

“If you want, _I’ll_ kill you,” Ronon said.

“Really?”

Ronon cocked his head to one side. “No.” He reached out and slapped the side of Rodney’s head instead.

“Ow!”

“That’s for not coming to me. Not coming to any of us. You got a problem, you tell your friends, give ‘em a chance to help.”

“There was no time! It was all happening too fast. But everything I tried, my subconscious threw me a curveball. I wanted to make sure nobody got hurt, but now it’s all… it’s just all out of control.”

Ronon glanced at Kolya, then at Lee. “McKay, you’re an idiot.”

“Oh, am I? Care to go head-to-head on an IQ test, Ogg? We’ll see to whom the term ‘idiot’ is best applied.”

Ignoring the insult, Ronon merely fixed him with an ironic little smile. “Maybe it was out of control at first. But looks to me like you’re calling the shots now.”

“Are you kidding? I’m playing lethal dodgeball, here! My fears keep turning into realities, and my subconscious keeps trying to back me into a corner.”

“Your fear brought Kolya here, and then you made him work for you,” Ronon countered. He inclined his head toward Dr. Lee. “I don’t know what this guy’s for, but I’m betting he had something to do with the Marines going down.”

“Yes, I used the Nighty-Night,” Lee confirmed happily.

Glancing down at the one of the unconscious Marines, Ronon said, “They gonna be okay?”

“Well, of course!” Rodney snapped. “I wouldn’t have _really_ hurt them.”

“See? You’re in charge of it now. You can fix this. But you’re gonna need some help.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I should have come to you guys when I realized what was happening, but I… Wait, why am I gonna need help?”

Major Evan Lorne’s voice suddenly called harshly from some distance away. “Dr. McKay! We know you’re in the armory. We know you attacked the Marines. We know you’re working with Kolya. Come out slowly with your hands on your head! We don’t want to hurt you, but we have orders to shoot to kill if necessary.”

Rodney’s eyes bulged. “ _Orders?_ Who the hell gave orders to _shoot me to death?”_

“There’s a big misunderstanding,” Ronon said.

“Oh, ya think?”

“I can get you out of here,” Ronon said. “Then you can find a way to make this all go away.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to surrender. If I don’t run and don’t resist, _maybe_ they won’t turn me into a human colander.”

“What happens if your subconscious puts up a fight for you? What if somebody gets hurt?”

Rodney felt desperation creeping over him again. “Oh, God, you’re right. There’s no other way out of this. You _have_ to kill me. That’s the only solu–"

Gripping Rodney by the shoulders, Ronon said, “You’re calling the shots here. If you really think dying is the only way to fix this…” He grabbed Rodney’s hand and put his enormous gun in it. He flipped a switch. “This is set to kill.” He took a step back. “It’s your choice.”

Rodney stared at him, wide-eyed, then looked at the gun. It was way heavier than he’d expected.

“Oh, my,” Lee said breathlessly. “I had no idea Atlantis was so high-drama.”

Rodney continued to stare at the gun. He could raise it to his head, try to pull the trigger. If he did that, what would his subconscious do to prevent it? Ronon was right–he had a measure of control over the phenomena now, he could _feel_ it. But if he took direct action toward suicide, he’d have to let go, and then…

He handed the gun back. “Fine. Get me out of here, and I’ll find another way to fix this.”

Ronon grinned and chucked him on the upper arm. While Rodney picked himself up off the floor, he reset the gun back to the stun setting. “Stay behind me as we go through the door. Got any ideas about where we should go from here?”

“Yeah, a few. I’ll have a decision by the time we’re safely out of the armory.”

“‘Kay. Here we go!”

They lunged out the door, Ronon laying down cover fire. Rodney heard Dr. Lee yelling after them, “Good luck! This is _very_ exciting!”

 

 


	14. In Which Chuck Acts Like a Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth and Radek figure some things out, with Chuck's help, but Lorne's still hell-bent on filling Rodney full of lead. Sounds intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for all the kudos! It's so gratifying to know people are enjoying the story.

Radek managed to keep up with Dr. Weir–well, mostly–but he was badly winded when they reached the control room. He didn’t know how she had the lungs to be shouting, “Patch me through to Major Lorne, immediately.” He all but crawled to one of the computer stations, feeling bone-tired, as Chuck got Lorne on the radio feed.

“We’re a little busy now, ma’am!” Lorne shouted over gunfire. “Ronon just helped Dr. McKay escape from the armory.”

“What about Kolya?” Weir said.

“Ronon took out Kolya. We thought he was going to take McKay into custody, but apparently, McKay is controlling him somehow.”

Weir rolled her eyes. “Major, listen to me. You have the wrong idea about this. I want you to stand down. I repeat: _stand down.”_

Lorne hesitated before asking, “Are you countermanding Colonel Sheppard’s orders, ma’am?”

“Yes, Major, I am.”

Another hesitation as gunfire continued. “May I ask where Colonel Sheppard is now? We haven’t been able to raise him on the radio in a while.”

Weir threw a wary glance in Radek’s direction. He had no advice to give and merely shrugged. He saw her weighing her meager options and come to a decision. “He’s in the infirmary.”

“Infirmary? What happened?” Lorne sounded suspicious.

Weir looked to Radek again, desperate. He still lacked inspiration but felt he couldn’t fail to offer a suggestion twice in a row, so he pantomimed being hit on the head. She gave him a look that clearly said, _Really? That’s the best you’ve got?_ and looked away. “Dr. Beckett has temporarily relieved him of duty,” she said to Lorne. “He was behaving irrationally.”

Radek closed his eyes. He should have given her a better suggestion.

“I see,” Lorne said. Then he seemed to have covered the mic of his earpiece, because his voice was muffled as he shouted, “Maintain pursuit! Team two, try to get ahead and cut them off!”

“Major Lorne,” Weir said firmly. “I am _ordering_ you to break off this attack. Dr. McKay is not your enemy.”

“Respectfully, Dr. Weir,” Lorne said, breathing heavily as he ran, “my commanding officer’s last orders warned me that McKay was dangerous, and I’ve seen him working with Kolya without evidence of coercion. He took out a complement of Marines in the armory without even touching them.”

“Yes, Major, Dr. McKay has acquired some… new abilities, but–”

“Ronon ran into the armory, shot Kolya, then ran back out covering for McKay. Ronon would never betray Colonel Sheppard, so I have to assume the corrupting influence here is McKay.”

“Major, please believe me,” Weir said urgently. “You are not working with all the facts. Stand down.”

“Ma’am, for all I know, Dr. McKay already got to you. And if what you say about the doctor  relieving Sheppard is true, I have to assume McKay could be controlling Beckett, too.”

Weir took a deep breath. “Major Lorne, Rodney is trying to protect us all from what is happening to him. Approaching him with aggression is actually more dangerous to you and your men than it is to him. If you won’t stop pursuing him, at least disregard the shoot-to-kill order. It will be safer for everyone.”

“Dr. Weir, my job is to protect Atlantis from threats. I’m going to follow my orders to subdue McKay by any means necessary until my commanding officer says otherwise. Lorne out.”

Weir leaned against a console, hanging her head, just for a second or two, before straightening again. “Okay, I need suggestions.”

She looked first at Radek, but again, he could offer nothing. He felt the twinge of failure as her gaze moved on to Chuck, who stammered, “Uh, I… I’m not entirely sure what’s going on? I knew about McKay’s fears coming to life and all, but… you mentioned Kolya?”

“Rodney’s fears _manifested_ Kolya, obviously!” Radek said impatiently. “But then we think Rodney figured out how to direct the manifestation to his own will. They went to the armory, and–”

“ _Why’d_ they go to the armory?” Elizabeth interrupted. “Why would Rodney want to go there?”

Radek lost his brief momentum. He felt his shoulders slumping in defeat as he rubbed his eyes. “Maybe our theory is wrong. Perhaps Kolya _was_ in control all along.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. In them, Radek thought he could read her message: _Don’t give up on me now._ Rodney _wouldn’t be giving up._  

“No, let’s stick with the theory, for the moment,” she said. “If Rodney _was_ directing things, why would he take Kolya to the armory?”

Radek called up what he knew of Kolya and let it all flow through his mind. “The man is always looking to extort something from us. Last time, he wanted Ladon Radim. Before that, the ZPM Sheppard’s team found on Dagan. And the invasion during the storm was about taking our supplies–C-4, medical supplies, ships, etc.” Radek frowned. “But if Rodney is _controlling_ the interaction with Kolya, why would he...” He snapped his fingers several times, belatedly realizing that he was imitating McKay. “He was trying to bribe Kolya for something.”

“Good,” Weir said encouragingly. “What for?”

Chuck, apparently trying to retain the illusion of participation in the discussion, said, “Yeah, what would Kolya have that McKay would want?”

Radek sat up straighter. “Dr. Weir, if I was wrong about Rodney’s objective earlier, and he was trying to commit suicide...”

“... then maybe he was trying to get Kolya to kill him?” Weir finished skeptically. “Does that track? I’ve seen them interact. Kolya really wouldn’t need an external incentive to kill Rodney.”

Chuck snorted, nodding, his unspoken comment seeming to be, _Who would?_

“No,” Radek said, coming to his feet, his mind soaring, his thoughts racing, “but Kolya is also a brutal sadist. He tortured Rodney during the storm, and Colonel Sheppard, well, we all know what he did to _him._ My point is, if Rodney was being thwarted in his pursuit of suicide, he wouldn’t _deliberately_ conjure up Kolya. But if Kolya happened to pop up, maybe Rodney decided to make use of him? Perhaps made some kind of deal?”

“Some C-4 or weapons in return for killing him?” Weir asked, looking doubtful.

“In return for killing him _quickly,_ without torment,” Radek said, excited. He knew he was right about this; he could feel it resonating in his bones.

“But why would Kolya make that deal?” Chuck asked. “He’s just a copy, not the real Kolya, right? What could he do with a bunch of C-4?”

“Chances are, these manifestations don’t know they are copies,” Radek said. Thinking about the abnormally bulked-up and threatening geese, he added, “They are probably not so much copies as physical representations of Rodney’s _perceptions_ of the originals. So they behave as he expects them to behave in the circumstances.”

“So if Rodney would expect Kolya to accept a deal of C-4 in return for a painless murder…” Weir said.

“Then the Kolya manifestation would probably take the bargain,” Radek finished. “All of the  fears that we’ve seen Rodney manifest are of things that he feels have power over him, or at least that have made him _feel_ powerless at some point. The whales, the lemonade, Kolya. But now, it would seem, Rodney has learned to exert some power of his own.” He added thoughtfully, “As he takes back his power, his fear will decrease.”

Weir seemed to be studying Radek’s face. “That’s a good thing, right? The less fear he’s feeling, the less danger we’re all in from his subconscious.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing for us. But maybe more dangerous for Rodney, under the circumstances.”

“How so?”

Chuck said idly, his hands moving over his console as he worked, “Because when Major Lorne’s men shoot to kill, McKay’s subconscious might not be prepared to defend him, and they might actually succeed.” When no one said anything, he looked up to find both Weir and Radek staring at him. “I mean, that seemed like the obvious conclusion, right?”

Weir looked at Radek and he nodded. “That is what I was getting at, yes.”

Weir ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, Ronon’s good, but I don’t think even he could outrun Lorne’s men through the city indefinitely, and he’s got Rodney in tow. We need a plan to help them out.”

“There is only one thing I can think of that will truly help,” Radek said, meeting her eyes.

Weir sighed. “We need to get Sheppard to rescind his shoot-to-kill order.”

“As soon as possible,” Radek agreed.

Nodding, Weir turned to Chuck and started to speak, but Chuck said, “Dr. Weir, this is going to sound strange, but I’m getting reports from various locations in the city of people being harassed by what several have described as extremely large and aggressive geese. Two separate people used the word ‘Schwarzenegger’ in describing them.”

Exchanging a look with Radek, Weir said, “On a day like this, it doesn’t sound as strange as you think.”

“I can send some people from the biology department to round them up,” Radek told her.

Weir nodded in response, just as Chuck said, “Control room,” answering an incoming transmission. Neither of them would have paid any attention had he not then said, “Oh, _hiiii,”_ as he hunched over and turned a little away from them both. Radek noted with surprise that Chuck’s ears had gone scarlet.

After few seconds of very quiet conversation, Chuck turned back around. His entire face was now red, but he sounded as professional as ever. “It’s Teyla in the infirmary. She says Colonel Sheppard is awake and demanding to see you.”

 


	15. Move, Don't Move. Whatever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes around. Which is odd, considering he didn't go around, first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You keep giving me hits and kudos. I should probably tell you, that's only encouraging me.

Teyla sat in a chair at John’s bedside in the infirmary. It was something she had done many times in the past, but this time was different. Very different.

Usually, her team leader and friend was not uninjured and bound hand and foot to the bed with security restraints.

He was staring at her, wearing a faint smile with no humor in it. His eyes had a predatory hardness that made her want to fidget nervously, which she carefully avoided doing.

“You picked the wrong side, you know,” he said, still smiling. “You, Beckett. Elizabeth.”

“Weuhr all on the same side,” Teyla said calmly. “All of us want the same thing–for Atlantis to be safe.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Overthrowing the military commander is a clear demonstration of your commitment to the safety of the city.”

“You havunnt been overthrown. Dr. Beckett has temporarily relieved you of duty. He is concerned about your state of mind.”

“Oh, he should be,” John said with a short, hard laugh. “You _all_ should be.”

Carson entered the private room and closed the door behind him. He glanced at Teyla, then at John. “How is everything in here, then?”

“Peachy,” John said in a bright voice that reminded Teyla of one of Ronon’s shinier knives.  “I was just telling Teyla how sorry you’re going to be for assaulting me.”

“Colonel,” Carson said steadily, “I was only trying to–”

“–keep Atlantis safe,” John finished, still maintaining that humorless smile. “Yeah, she said that, too. Funny thing, though–that’s _my_ job, Doc.”

“I was going to say that I was trying to keep _Rodney_ safe, Colonel. Safe from you.”

“Then you were interfering with me doing my job.”

“Is it your job to use lethal force against our head of science–who also happens to be your friend–without any attempt to understand the true circumstances?” Carson demanded. “In my medical opinion, you were behaving in an uncharacteristic and dangerous manner.”

“Well, in my military opinion,” John said, “I was acting to fulfill my obligation to protect this city from a proven threat to its safety.”

“Rodney hasunnt been proven to be a threat,” Teyla pointed out.

“Kolya _has!”_ John countered. “And Rodney was witnessed walking him through the city. Given the other things we’ve seen today, it’s not a stretch to assume that Rodney is responsible for Kolya being here. So if Kolya’s a threat, and Rodney brought him here and is _working_ with him, do the damn math!”

“The only thing Rodney’s done wrong,” Carson said, his tone deeply frustrated, “is making those bloody silver hats! Without those, none o’ this would be happening.”

John leaned back, smirking. “Ohhhh, I get it. You think this is part of that stupid stargate brain-boundaries theory.”

“The what?” Teyla asked, looking from one man to the other.

“Oh, that’s right. They didn’t invite you to the meeting,” John said. He leaned toward her, stage-whispering conspiratorially. “They think some of us have gone crazy since we stopped letting the stargate mess with our heads.”

“No one ever used the word ‘crazy,’” Carson protested.

“I do-unnt understand.”

“I didn’t either,” John said. “But I think Carson can explain it.”

Teyla knew that Sheppard was angling to drive a wedge between them, but still–there _had_ been a meeting today from which she’d been excluded. She raised an eyebrow at Carson, seeking an explanation.

Her earpiece clicked in a short pattern. Excusing herself with reluctance, Teyla left the private room, switching to the radio frequency the code had indicated. “Yes?”

Ronon’s voice: “Got him.”

She felt a knot in her chest loosen, slightly. “That is good to hear. Is he all right?”

In the background, she heard an impatient voice demand, “Is that Sheppard? Tell him his goon squad’s gone rogue! Here, just let me talk to him–”

It made her smile to hear Rodney’s voice, but his ignorance of the the situation with John dampened the warm feeling. A yelp implied that Ronon had slapped Rodney’s hand away from his earpiece. At least, she hoped it was only his hand.

“He’s fine. For now,” the big man rumbled ominously. “We’re staying ahead of Lorne’s guys, so far.”

“You-uhll need to continue that for a while. It may be some time before we can convince Colonel Sheppard that Rodney is not a threat.”

“Maybe I should bring him there? Let him see for himself?”

Teyla thought about it. “And possibly lead Lorne and his men to both of them?”

“Yeah, bad idea.” Ronon sighed. “We’ll stay on the run. McKay’s gotten a handle on his problems, but I’m not sure how long I can keep him out of the Marines’ way.”

Again, she heard Rodney in the background. “Why doesn’t Sheppard just tell Lorne to–” He raised his voice to be heard over Ronon’s earpiece. _“Sheppard!_ Tell Lorne to stop–”

He was cut off abruptly, and Teyla heard Ronon growl, “We’re. _Hiding.”_

Very faintly: “Right. Sorry.”

Addressing Teyla, Ronon said, “Gotta go. Might just stun McKay and drag his ass around. Be a lot quieter.”

“I _said_ I was sorry!”

“Weuhll do everything we can here,” Teyla assured Ronon. “Elizabeth is coming to talk to John now.”

“Fine. Let me know if things change.”

“You should probably tell Rodney that the shoot-to-kill order came from Colonel Sheppard.”

Ronon hesitated. “Yeah. I was waiting to see if he came to his senses.”

“That could be a long wait,” Teyla observed.

“Usually is.” With a click, he was gone.

Teyla sighed, rolling her head to relieve tension in her neck. Closing her eyes, she wished for a pair of strong hands to knead the knots away. She put her own hands there, trying to imagine that they belonged to…

But why should she imagine, when she could actually _have_ what she desired? What she _needed?_ She could simply go to the control room and ask–no, demand his assistance.  He would not hesitate to comply, she knew that. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, drenched with longing. _Chuck,_ she sighed in her mind.

“Teyla? Are you all right?”

Elizabeth’s voice and a hand on her arm yanked Teyla back into the cold, massageless reality. Trying to disguise her frustration with a pained smile, she said, “Iyuhhm fine. Just eager to be able to do something, rather than wait.”

“Well, let’s hope this goes well,” Elizabeth said, looking cautiously hopeful. “What’s his mood?”

“Angry and resistant. Heezz convinced that we-uhv betrayed him and Atlantis.”

“That’s not an unexpected response, under the circumstances.”

“No, but…” Teyla hesitated. “He is different than usual. Cold, calculating. I would say that Colonel Sheppard is what you would call ‘biding his time.’” On a whim, she added, “He also seems to be trying to pit us against one another. He mentioned something about a theory you were all discussing today in your office.”

A consummate diplomat, Elizabeth didn’t even flinch. “Yes, Carson and Kate have noticed behavioral changes in people who’ve engaged in heavy gate travel since we instituted the new headgear protocol. Things like Colonel Sheppard’s metamorphosis into a hardened commander, and now Rodney’s more tangible mental abilities.”

Teyla frowned and started to ask another question, but the raised voices in the private room drove both women to hurry inside.

“–straight into the darkest, _deepest_ hole the U.S. military has! Because that’s what we do with _traitors!”_

“Look who’s talking about traitors, ye bloody hypocrite. Colonel ‘We don’t leave people behind… _alive!’”_

“Gentlemen,” Elizabeth said, as if she were calling to order a daily briefing instead of walking in on a shouting match. “This doesn’t sound productive. Let’s move on.”

“Elizabeth,” John said in that _faux_ -cheerful manner he’d been using with Teyla and Carson earlier. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“You’re welcome,” she said briskly. She leaned against a cabinet and folded her arms, presenting a picture of relaxed ease. Teyla was impressed. “Let’s get the whole ‘you’ll never get away with this’ part of the conversation out of the way. In the opinions of myself and Dr. Beckett, your shoot-to-kill order against Dr. McKay was reckless, unwarranted, and a signal that your mental health was in question. I feel certain that Teyla, Ronon, and Doctors Heightmeyer and Zelenka will all back up that assessment.”

Teyla nodded.

“So if you expect to intimidate us with threats, that is simply a waste of your time. It’ll be your word against all of ours. There is no way that either the Air Force or the IOA is going to take action against Dr. Beckett for relieving you of duty or against the rest of us for supporting that action, under the circumstances.” Elizabeth paused, giving him a chance to respond.

Sheppard stared at her, still bearing his steely smile, but betraying a hint of surprise. He looked at Teyla and said, “I gotta say, I didn’t see that coming.” Then, to Elizabeth: “That was terrific. Really. I’d applaud, but clapping is a little out of my reach at the moment.” He raised his arms as far as the restraints would allow. “Now, I doubt you came here just to gloat, so why don’t we talk about what you think _isn’t_ a waste of my time?”

“Are you interested in hearing what really happened with Kolya?” At his silent assent, Elizabeth proceeded to tell him what she knew from Lorne and what they had put together in the control room.

“You expect me to believe that Rodney was trying to commit suicide-by-Kolya?” John asked with a brittle laugh.

“Bloody fool,” Carson muttered, looking distressed.

“Not initially,” Elizabeth said. “We think Kolya appeared as a manifestation of one of the things that makes Rodney feel powerless. But Rodney apparently decided to use him as an instrument of suicide to pull an end-run on his subconscious.”

“So his answer was to kill himself and leave Atlantis to deal with the evil villain he conjured up?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I’m sure Rodney believed that all the manifestations would disappear once he was dead and his imagination was no longer there to fuel them.”

“Is that true?”

“We have no reason to believe otherwise.”

John shook his head stubbornly. “If he could take control over a manifestation, why wouldn’t he have done it a lot sooner?”

“Because he had to _think_ of it first,” Elizabeth said. “You know how Rodney is. He started out too terrified to do more than react to what was happening, probably trying one thing after another with no luck. But as he was bouncing between failures, part of his mind was watching and learning, and figuring out what to do next.”

“He is very good at adapting to changing situations under pressure,” Teyla added. “None of us would be alive right now if that werunnt the case.”

Shepard gave her a sharp look. “Look, I know you think I was disloyal to McKay, but I gave the order to use lethal force– _if necessary_ –because his fear manifestations were putting the entire city in danger. It wasn’t personal.”

“By the time you gave that order, Colonel,” Carson said, “it sounds as though Rodney had already gotten things in hand.”

“Iyuhhv spoken to Ronon,” Teyla said. “He confirmed that Rodney has gotten control over his fears. But Lorne is pursuing them all over the city. Sooner or later, he-uhll overtake them.”

“And since Rodney is feeling less afraid,” Elizabeth said, “his subconscious may not be on guard to counter that threat. If Lorne shoots to kill, Rodney will very likely die.”

“Like I said,” John growled, “it wasn’t personal.”

“Rodney would probably disagree,” Teyla said.

Elizabeth walked to the end of John’s bed and faced him. “John, I need you to call off the manhunt and rescind the shoot-to-kill order. I know you did it to protect Atlantis, but what Atlantis needs most right now is its head scientist alive. As our military commander, surely you can see that.”

For a long moment, John simply studied her face, then looked into the distance as though weighing the options. Finally, he said, impatiently, “Give me a damn radio. I’ll call Lorne and his men off. But then I need Ronon to bring Rodney to me. We all need to get in a room together and get this situation figured out.”

At a nod from Elizabeth, Teyla produced a handheld radio. Carson released John’s left hand and put the radio into it. John hit the talk button. “Sheppard to Lorne. What’s your status?”

After a few seconds, Lorne responded. “Colonel, it’s really good to hear your voice. We tracked McKay to the armory, but Ronon helped him to escape. We’ve been in pursuit ever since. I think we’re finally getting them boxed in.”

With a frown, John said, “I didn’t hear anything about Kolya in there, Major. Were you able to take him into custody after Ronon shot him?”

“Negative, sir. Kolya’s with us.”

John’s eyebrows lifted. “So… you _did_ take him into custody.”

“No, sir. We questioned him. He was able to give us valuable intel on McKay’s activities and plans. He’s now assisting us in the search.”

There was a moment of thunderous silence in the infirmary. John lowered the radio. “Ever walk out of a movie to get a refill on popcorn, and when you come back, it’s a baseball game? Played by clowns?”

“Tell Lorne to stop!” Elizabeth prompted urgently, if vaguely.

John hit the talk button again, his voice dangerously calm. “Major, listen to me very carefully. I’m calling off the search for McKay. You no longer have orders to hunt him down, you’re no longer authorized to use lethal force against him. He’s officially off the most-wanted list. And you’re to take _Kolya_ into custody immediately. He’s to be treated as an enemy of the expedition. Do you understand?”

There was a long pause before Lorne responded. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that. Kolya has just explained everything. You and the rest of the senior staff are under the influence of mind control by Dr. McKay. The only way I can save Atlantis is by cutting off that influence.”

“Major, if you don’t follow my orders immediately, I’ll be cutting off something more substantial than influence!”

“Colonel Sheppard,” a smooth, smiling voice cut in, “I suggest that you relax. This ordeal will be over very soon. We will find McKay, kill him, and you will all be free.”

“Kolya!” Sheppard roared. “If you even _think_ about–”

Carson had leaned toward Elizabeth and was saying softly, “Wait, how can we listen to this without hearing all the other transmissions going–”

Abruptly, the radio was filled with interference as dozens of voices competed for prominence, rendering it useless.

“What the hell?” John yelled.

“Sorry!” Carson cried.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Never mind that,” Elizabeth said. “We have bigger issues than the radio.” Teyla noticed she shot Carson a special glare, anyway.

“Well, _this_ just turned to crap in a hurry,” Sheppard said, furiously trying to release his right wrist from the security restraint. “How the hell did Kolya get to Lorne like that?”

“I have no idea!” Elizabeth said, throwing her hands into the air in a decidedly undiplomatic fashion.

Carson said, “Well, if the silver head thingies have opened our gate teams’ minds to thoughts and behaviors they wouldn’t have had before, maybe this is an example of that principle in action.”

“I thought you said McKay had control over the manifestations,” John said accusingly, still fussing with the restraint before demanding, “A little help, here?”

Teyla moved quickly to begin releasing the rest of John’s restraints. “Maybe his control ends when his attention moves on to other things. If they left Kolya unconscious in the armory, Rodney may have assumed he was no longer a threat to anyone.”

“This is just great,” John groused, getting up and stretching after his confinement. “Now we’re up against the friendly neighborhood supervillain _and_ our own military. Can’t wait to send _this_ report to the SGC.”

Teyla rolled her eyes. “We do-unnt have time to waste. We need to leave the infirmary now.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “We have to find Rodney and Ronon before Lorne and Kolya do.”

Teyla was herding them out of the private room and toward the door of the infirmary. “Yes, but if Major Lorne thinks we’ve all been compromised, he-uhll have men looking for us, as well.”

“And Lorne knows that John’s in the infirmary,” Elizabeth said.

Sheppard gave her a hard look. “How does he know that?”

“I told him. Oh, don’t look at me like that! I was trying to be transparent.”

“Move!” Teyla said.

 _“Don’t_ move!” said one of the two Marines who stepped into the infirmary, P-90s raised and ready to fire. “Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your heads.”

“See, that’s what we call a mixed message,” Sheppard said, “since doing those things requires movement.”

“Where’s McKay?” demanded the other Marine, apparently not up for a logical debate.

“I’m right behind you, idiot.” Rodney’s voice came from just beyond the doorway. Ronon’s gun sounded, and both Marines were down before they could fully turn around.

“Oh, thank God,” Carson breathed as Ronon came into the infirmary, followed by Rodney.  “You’re both all right.”

“No thanks to Colonel Brutus, here,” Rodney spat. “Thanks a lot for the death sentence.” His eyes went wide with apprehension as Sheppard took a P-90 and sidearm off one of the unconscious Marines and stood up.

“Well, your birthday’s coming up,” John said, “and gift cards are so impersonal.”

Rodney relaxed, and Teyla felt herself doing so, as well.

“We have another problem,” Elizabeth said. “Kolya’s–”

“–got Lorne working for him, we know,” Rodney said. “Ronon heard the whole exchange. But you can all relax.” He beamed. “I have a plan.”

“God save us all,” Carson moaned.


	16. To Pee or Not To Pee: That's Not a Question. Of COURSE You Should Pee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rodney set off together to explore new ways of trying to balance bickering with productivity.

“Okay, we’ll break into two teams,” John said, handing McKay the sidearm he’d taken off one of the unconscious Marines. “Rodney and I will focus on implementing his plan. Ronon and Teyla, take Elizabeth and Carson to the control room and secure it. We don’t want Kolya getting access to our primary systems or the gate.”

“That’s a good idea,” McKay said quickly.

“Thanks,” John said, fastening the tac vest he’d also appropriated. “I was really hoping you’d approve.”

“The control room is very important. So important that, uh, _you_ should probably be the one to secure it, don’t you think?”

John looked at him. “What?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know, just think about it,” McKay said. He was talking fast, hands flying as usual, but his eyes wouldn’t hold steady contact with John’s. “The control room is the nerve center of the city. Everybody knows that. Most of the main systems are controlled from there. It’s where Elizabeth spends most of her time. And it leads right to the gate room. Protecting all of that from Kolya really seems like a job for the military commander, don’t you think? Especially since you two have that whole grudge thing going? And as for my plan, Ronon and I could handle it. I mean, I’ve been fine with him so far, and–”

“And now you’ll be fine with me,” John said.

“Uh, sure. Of course. I know that. It’s just that–”

“Maybe Rodney’s right,” Elizabeth said. “If Lorne and Kolya try to take the control room–”

“First of all,” John said, “Kolya’s made it clear that he intends to kill McKay, and I think he’s counting on me to show up to prevent it.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t give him what he–” Rodney began.

“Second of all, I’m not taking a poll on how to handle this. I’m giving orders. Teyla, Ronon: get Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett to the control room. McKay, you’re with me.”

John turned as though he expected them to do as ordered–which he did–and grabbed McKay’s elbow firmly, dragging the scientist along until he was moving up to speed. John moved to stay slightly behind and to one side of him.

“You’re sure you can do this?” John asked.

“Hm? Do what?” McKay kept moving, but darted frequent glances back to John.

“Your plan? You might remember that from way back ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, of course I can do it.” There was irritation in his voice, but not as much as there should have been. As he looked back at John, the side of his head slammed into one of the decorative beams that swept gracefully out from the wall. McKay swore in pain and put a hand to his head, but still kept an eye behind him.

“All right, that’s it,” John growled, pushing McKay around a corner and stopping. “What the hell’s your problem? A few hours ago, you were waltzing through the city on Kolya’s arm like you didn’t have a care in the world. Now you act like you think _I’m_ about to shoot you in the back.”

“Well, I figure it’s the next logical step after _stabbing_ me in it.”

“Look, it wasn’t personal! I was only taking a precaution to protect the city.”

“Ordering Lorne to _shoot and kill me_ wasn’t personal?”

“I said, ‘if necessary.’ Why doesn’t anyone ever remember that I said that?”

“Because ‘necessary’ is pretty subjective!” McKay yelled. “For all I know, Lorne might have decided that a _sneeze_ was an aggressive action. And you know how bad my allergies are!”

“Keep your voice down,” John said, speaking quietly and moving closer to Rodney for emphasis. McKay’s eyes still blazed with anger, but they also widened, and he shrank minutely toward the wall. John backed off, blinking. “You’re seriously afraid I’m going to hurt you.”

McKay’s eyes rolled with their usual infuriating eloquence. “A few hours ago, you were willing to kill me without even getting my side of the story. It’s a little hard to reconcile that with ‘I’ve got your back, buddy.’”

Outrage elbowed regret out of the way before it even managed to get to its feet, and John said, “Well, I gave you a gun! That should give you some security.”

“Yeah, a handgun’s a tremendous comfort when _you’re_ wielding a P-90,” McKay snarled. “No power imbalance there.”

“Fine! We’ll trade.”

“Oh, come on! We both know you could kill me with a gun made of Tinkertoys–even the plastic ones–faster than I could _aim_ a P-90.”

“Well, help me out here, McKay! What can I do to make you feel safe?”

McKay’s face was wide open, his hurt and disillusionment on full display. “There’s nothing you can do. You already gave the order. The damage is done.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he glared. Nothing like a good glare to mask a conversational deficiency.

“Come on,” McKay said resignedly, “let’s hit a lab and I’ll try to locate Lorne and Kolya.” He swallowed and turned his back to John with an obvious reluctance. He didn’t look back as he started to hurry down the corridor.

They traveled in silence to the lab, where Rodney ordered the scientists working there to leave, then used a handy laptop to tie into the locator function. “Yep,” he said.

“Yep what?”John asked.

“Lorne disconnected his sub-Q transmitter, predictably.”

“He knows how to do that?”

“Well, of course he knows… Wait, are you saying you haven’t disconnected _yours?”_ McKay gave John a look of disgust. “Thanks for finally mentioning that trivial fact!” He set about taking John’s transmitter off the grid.

“Why would I have already done it?” John demanded. “When I need something like that, I just have you do it.”

“Yes, well, you might want to learn how to do it for yourself, just in case you decide to put me to death in the future.” He punched a few more keys with finality. “There. Hopefully, they haven’t already figured out where we are.”

Clenching his jaw, John said, “Okay, so if Lorne’s tracker is a bust, how are we gonna find them before they find us?”

McKay was already punching more keys, flitting through systems. “We’ll check out the Ancient surveillance system.”

“There’s a surveillance system?” John said, feeling out of the loop and angry about it. “Why haven’t I heard about it before?”

“That’s just what we’re calling it. It actually seems to have been like a communal  camcorder or something. Navigating it has proven challenging, which is why you haven’t heard about it.”

“So if you can’t navigate it, how are you going to use it to find Kolya?”

“I had a minor epiphany about it last night,” McKay said, still fiddling with the laptop. “We’ve been trying to work it solely from a technical angle. But maybe it’s a case of applying some mental imagery...” He trailed off and various images from around the city at various times of day flitted across the screen.

Recognizing that this could take a while, John forced himself to relax and leaned his back against the table so he could watch the door. “So, plastic Tinkertoys?”

“What?”

“You said ‘even the plastic ones’ earlier. When did they start making Tinkertoys out of plastic?”

“I dunno. I didn’t find out about them until I saw Madison playing with them the last time I was at Jeannie’s. They suck! And they’re all the wrong size. You can still buy the wooden ones online. I ordered– Oh, wait.” McKay stopped fiddling with the laptop and turned to glare at John. “You’re trying to engage me in light-hearted banter to defuse the tension and promote re-bonding and whatnot. Well, it won’t work. Maybe we _used_ to be friends, but today, when I really needed help, it was–””

John had stopped listening when he noticed the image on the screen. “What the hell?”

McKay, annoyed at being interrupted, sighed huffily before also becoming riveted by the video feed. It was Ronon, recorded sometime during early morning hours (judging by the  darkened sky visible through the windows) and in a remote part of the city. “Huh. Um… practicing some kind of fighting technique, maybe?”

Just then, Ronon executed a little jump, landing with knees apart and flexing as his torso bent at the waist and made a wide circle a few times, his dreads whipping around wildly.

“Not unless he’s using his hair as a weapon,” John said, continuing to stare.

“Well…” McKay said, in a tone that implied that the notion was not out of the question.

John watched Ronon take a few long, graceful steps to launch himself upward, land on a ledge, twirl (somehow managing to make the twirling masculine), leap down to the floor, and fall to his side. He balanced with his feet together and his weight on one hand, the other arm stretched toward the ceiling.

“Is he… _dancing?”_ John said. He said it in the same tone he would have used to ask if Ronon was eating a live Iratus bug.

“Uh… yeah. I think so.”

“Ronon doesn’t dance.”

“And yet, we have video evidence to the contrary! Look, not that this isn’t… traumatizing, but we’re under the literal gun here, so can I…?”

McKay waved a hand in a rolling motion, which John interpreted as a request to resume searching the surveillance system. John nodded and went to the lab’s doorway to glance  up and down the halls, primarily to ensure that Kolya wasn’t sneaking up on them, but also because he was spooked by the video of Ronon. “That has gotta be related to our use of the headgear, somehow.”

“What is?”

“Ronon… doing that.” John really didn’t want to use the D-word again.

McKay continued to watch the screen. “Well, _that’s_ a well-reasoned conclusion.”

“Maybe not, but it’s sorta justified, under the circumstances,” John said. “You know about the strange effects some people have been experiencing, right?”

“The whole base has been talking about your sudden eschewal of hair products, if that’s what you’re talking about,” McKay confirmed.

“It’s more than just that,” John said, irrationally angry, “and you of all people should know it.”

“Right! Go ahead and blame me for everything. Why deviate from tradition?”

“Goddammit, who said anything about blame?”

McKay fixed him with a vicious glare and made air quotes. “‘If necessary, _shoot to kill.’”_

About to defend his decision yet again, John caught sight of Kolya on the laptop screen. “Wait!” he said, rushing back to the lab table and trying to ignore the way McKay flinched at his quick approach. On the laptop screen, the Genii was manhandling some unlucky scientist. “Where is this coming from?”

“Relax, it’s from hours ago,” McKay said, waving a hand dismissively.

Abruptly, John realized that the throat Kolya’s hand was squeezing belonged to McKay. Kolya released him, only to pin him back to the wall with a knife to his throat. “I thought you made a deal with him.”

“What can I say?” McKay said tiredly. “The man even negotiates violently. Seen enough? We really need to find where Kolya is _now.”_ The parade of images resumed.

“So that’s how he showed up?” John said, his voice tense. “He attacked you in a transporter?”

“Actually, no. I was being attacked by zombie t– uh, zombies. Someone got off the transporter and dragged me to safety. It turned out to be Kolya.”

John tried to make his mouth work, but it was all taking a while to process. “Zombies? For real? And _Kolya_ rescued you? Why?”

McKay took a breath, his expression that of a professor attempting to dumb down a complex concept for a particularly dull student. “My subconscious sent the zombies to stop me from jumping off the main tower. When the zombies overpowered me, my subconscious sent a rescuer.” He looked away from John as he said, “I– I actually thought it was you. At first. But when I was safe from the zombies, I saw that my conscious mind had conjured up Kolya.”

“Because you’re scared of him.”

McKay sneered. “Thanks, that needed to be stated outright. But once he was there, I realized that maybe I could use Kolya to accomplish my goal of suicide, and that’s when I started to get a handle on the whole manifested-fears phenomenon.”

“What were they like?”

“What? Who?”

“The zombies,” John asked impatiently. Part of him knew that his priorities were taking a detour, but hey–zombies! “Was it like _Dawn of the Dead?”_

McKay cleared his throat and kept his attention on the video search. “Yes, I suppose so. More or less.”

“Can you show me the video?”

“No.”

“Sure you can! You were thinking about Kolya, and you called up a video of him. Before that, you were thinking about Ronon, weren’t you? So you could bring up the zombies if you wanted.”

McKay said, venomously, “Oh, you think it’s fun to relive a recent trauma, huh? How about this?” He closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate.

The screen settled abruptly on the scene where Ronon had abetted Beckett in ambushing John with the sedative. John narrowed his eyes and felt his jaw muscles contracting.

“Wow, that’s kinda terrifying,” McKay said. “Now I’m wondering if Carson is habitually prepared to attack someone with a syringe if they aren’t toeing the line. I think I’ll avoid turning my back on him from now on. Sometimes he gives me this _look,_ you know?”

On some level, John recognized that the rage he felt at McKay’s failure to follow his orders was inappropriate, particularly since his orders had been to show him footage of zombies instead of what they were actually there to do.

On the verbal level, he simply barked, “Are we still looking for Kolya, or are you planning to let him corner us in this lab?” As he prepared for what would surely be a scathing response, John caught a movement in the doorway out of the corner of his eye. He swung the P-90 toward the doorway as McKay spun off his seat, drawing his nine-millimeter.

“Gosh!” said the short bald guy in the lab coat and glasses, blinking down the dual gun barrels. Then he brightened when he saw McKay. John noticed that, because it really didn’t happen too often. “Oh, Dr. McKay, I’m so glad I found you.”

The guy looked really familiar, John realized. “Rodney, isn’t that… ?

“Dr. Lee from the SGC, yes,” McKay said distractedly, lowering his weapon. “What are you doing wandering around like this?”

The genial scientist walked into the lab, ignoring the fact that John still had his P-90 trained on him. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m, uh… looking for the little hologram’s room.”

John finally lowered the P-90. “The what?”

“I know, I was surprised by the realism, too,” Dr. Lee said with a sheepish smile. “I mean, when you told me I’m a hologram, I was like, ‘wow, but I feel so solid.’ But the longer I stay turned on, the more realistic my internal sensations become. I mean, I started to get thirsty a couple of hours ago, and now I’m hungry, too!”

“What is he–” John began.

“I’m a hologram,” Lee said, answering the question he thought John was asking. “An experimental science interface. Kinda like the Doctor.”

John frowned, confused. “Doctor who?”

“No,” Lee said, “the one from _Voyager._ You know, Star Trek.”

“Oh. Right.” John lifted an eyebrow at McKay. “So… he’s a ‘hologram,’ huh?”

“Well, he’s certainly not a _manifestation_ of some kind,” McKay said, laughing artificially and giving John a meaningful look. _The guy would make a spectacularly bad undercover operative,_ John thought.

Looking Lee up and down, John asked, “Shouldn’t he show up saying, ‘Please state the nature of the scientific emergency?’”

“Oh, please,” McKay said irritably, “they quit doing that eventually.”

“You know that IOA guy, Woolsey?” Lee said, grinning broadly. “He keeps trying to organize a _Voyager_ watch party at Cheyenne Mountain.”

Both scientists laughed. John surprised himself by joining in.

“As if!” McKay said. “I mean, who watched it while it was actually _on?”_

“I know, right?” Lee said. “Although, I guess the show did sort of give you the idea to create _me,_ so that’s something. Which reminds me–while the internal experience is incredible–seriously, it’s like I can really feel my bladder and it’s almost ready to burst–there seems to be a breakdown in the actual interface. I haven’t been able to connect to a database at all since you turned me on. So I’m assuming the two things are connected somehow?”

McKay frowned. “Connected how?"

“That maybe you designed me to feel a need for, uh, ‘relief’ when I’m unable to download to the network?”

John grinned. “That actually would be a cool feature.”

“More of a ‘nice-to-have’ than a ‘must-have,’” McKay muttered.

“Intellectually, of course, I knew that holograms don’t urinate, but the feeling was real enough, and urgent enough, that I started searching for the restrooms. But I never did find one. I tried to ask Major Lorne about it when I ran into him and that Kolya guy earlier, but they weren’t inclined to pay much attention to me, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve seen Lorne and Kolya?” John demanded urgently.

“Yes! In fact, Lorne suggested that I find Dr. McKay to ask him about–oh, look! There they are now, on the screen.”

John’s eyes snapped to the laptop just as McKay’s head whipped in the same direction. Sure enough, there were Lorne and Kolya leading about six Marines down a corridor. “Can you tell where they are?”

“Looks like a corridor,” McKay said. At John’s angry snort, he added, “Like I can tell them all apart at a glance, without context! Have you seen how big this place is? It’s not like I can just tap into the…” He looked away suddenly, eyes filled with excitement, snapped his fingers and said, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

John knew from experience that this was the beginning of something he would appreciate, so he tamped down, with effort, the by-the-book part of him that wanted to smack McKay in the skull for insubordination.

“Bill, I need you to connect with this visual system,” McKay said to Lee, pointing to the laptop.

“But, my interface… I can’t…”

“You already did,” McKay assured him. “That’s how their image appeared on this screen when you were thinking about them. I need you to keep doing that.”

“Okay.”

The video continued to follow Lorne and Kolya’s party as they moved through the city.

“Good,” McKay said. “Now, I need you to interface _that_ feed with _this_ life signs detector.”

McKay produced one of the Ancient devices and handed it to Lee. John idly thought how great it was that there always seemed to be one of those things around when they needed one.

“We need to isolate the life signs of those eight people.”

“Oh, but, uh…” Lee stammered. “I don’t know how to–”

 _“Yes,_ you do,” McKay said, much more patient than John had ever heard him be with any of his own science team. “It’s exactly the kind of thing I designed you for, to bridge two incompatible systems and produce highly specialized output. I personally programmed you for this.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Lee said. His features hardened slightly into a look of concentration, and then there were eight orange dots on the screen of the life signs detector. Lee beamed. “Look! You did it.”

“No, Bill,” McKay said with pompous magnanimity, _“we_ did it.” He looked at the device and added, “And we need to get out of here, pronto. They’ll be right on top of us in about two minutes.”

“Let’s move,” John said, giving Lee a gentle shove toward the door.

“Um, not to be a pest or anything,” Lee said, “but I really do need to download right now. Or else I’m going to have an accident.”

“On it,” McKay said, typing furiously on another laptop. “Okay, now take this–” he handed Lee one end of an ethernet cable– “and visualize, um, relieving yourself. That should take care of the problem.”

Lee closed his eyes and proceeded to adopt a look that all men who’d ever spent time standing at a bank of urinals would recognize. John shifted his weight and looked away uncomfortably.

“Ahhh,” Lee sighed. “Much better.”

“Zip it up and let’s go,” John said roughly, pushing both scientists out the lab’s doorway.

 


	17. Talk American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it still French kissing if you're speaking Czech? This has nothing to do with the chapter; I was just curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have had this chapter up much sooner, but I was beset by mutant magnets from another dimension. Obviously, this upset my writing schedule. Thanks for hanging in there. If you are, I mean. If you're not, well, you're not reading this note, so never mind.

“You are _out_ of your mind!” Radek said to Dr. Weir. Gesturing emphatically at the little group in the control room, which included Teyla, Dr. Beckett, and Ronon, he added, “All of you! You all have clearly lost what little minds you may have once had. I am ashamed that we are of the same _species!_ How do you remember to breathe in and out with such negligible brain function?”

“Dr. Zelenka,” Weir said, her voice even but her eyes reflecting a darker mood, “you are aware that none of us speaks Czech. Would you please switch back to English?”

Taking a deep breath, Radek continued in the suggested tongue (and a much milder tone), “I do not understand how the decision was made to leave Rodney alone with Colonel Sheppard, after we all committed mutiny to keep the colonel from _killing_ him.”

“Put that way, it does sound a bit daft,” Beckett agreed, looking remorseful.

“I do-unt believe that Rodney is in danger from Colonel Sheppard,” Teyla said, adding, “anymore.”

“Neither do I,” Chuck said. Radek cast him a sidelong glance and saw the gate technician flashing Teyla a most unprofessional besotted smile. Radek removed his glasses to swipe a hand down his face and sighed.

“We all talked him through the situation,” Weir said, “and in the end, John was convinced enough to rescind the shoot-to-kill order.”

“Yes, and that was clearly most effective,” Radek said dryly

Weir shot him an unamused look. “And when Major Lorne refused to accept the new orders, Colonel Sheppard elected to take action to protect Rodney.”

“By dragging him all over the city while a madman and our brainwashed military are hunting him,” Radek finished. “I am failing to see how this is safer than hiding Rodney somewhere where he could be guarded.”

“Moving target’s harder to hit,” Ronon pronounced. As though to demonstrate the truth of this, he prowled the control room like a lion new to captivity. Watching him, Radek wondered if he had always moved in such a… rhythmic way. Strange that he’d never noticed it before.

“Yes, but maybe Radek’s right,” Beckett fretted. “This is too much like dangling Rodney like a worm on a hook for my taste.”

“Colonel Sheppard would not expose Rodney to unnecessary danger,” Teyla said, putting a comforting hand on the doctor’s arm.

Beckett turned on her. “Colonel Sheppard _already_ exposed him to unnecessary danger! Or have you forgotten how this bloody mess got started?”

Behind the console, Chuck leapt to his feet. “You take that back!”

As all eyes in the control room turned to him, the technician blushed. “I meant to say something else,” he said, slowly sitting back down. But he maintained eye contact with Beckett until the doctor rolled his eyes and looked away.

“We all remember how it started,” Teyla said. Her tone made Radek think of frost on a window pane.

“Aye, it started when Colonel Sheppard stopped thinking of Rodney as a friend and started to see him as a threat to be eliminated,” Beckett persisted. “Sheppard’s not truly himself at the moment.”

“Maybe not,” Ronon said. “But McKay’s got his fears under control now. Sheppard knows that. Only threat he’s looking to eliminate now is Kolya.” He resumed his strangely hypnotic prowling. “I got no problem with that.”

“Nor do I,” Radek said, “but you are forgetting something. Kolya is not–”

“Dr. Z,” Chuck interrupted, “the biologists you sent to deal with the geese are reporting difficulties.”

“What kind of difficulties?” Dr. Weir asked.

“The geese are refusing to cooperate.”

“The biology team was sent to capture the geese,” Radek said, “not to establish a working relationship with them!”

“They’ve been trying to apprehend the geese for a couple of hours,” Chuck reported. “Apparently, these birds are more intelligent and aggressive than normal geese. The biology team has sustained several minor injuries and are requesting back-up.”

“Back-up?” Weir asked, incredulous. “Against _geese?”_

Chuck cleared his throat, clearly projecting a don’t-shoot-the-messenger attitude. “The biology team is currently holed up in the bathroom of someone’s quarters. Apparently, the containment efforts antagonized the geese enough to chase the team, and now they–”

“Idiots! I am surrounded by helpless, mentally incompetent children!”

“English, Radek,” Weir sighed.

Radek closed his eyes and said, carefully, in English, “And who, exactly, am I to send as back-up? Hm? Our military personnel are compromised.” He looked pointedly at Weir.

“Surely there are some we can still trust to–”

“Suppose they check in with Lorne first and he tells them Kolya says all of our scientists are a threat? I want to send my idiot biologists rescuers, not executioners.”

There seemed to be a shortage of ideas, as the silence stretched uncomfortably. Ronon broke first.

“I’ll go.”

“That would be unwise,” Teyla said immediately. “Colonel Sheppard was right. We need to keep the control room secured.”

“Yes,” Weir agreed, frustrated. “But we can’t just let Rodney’s geese terrorize the biologists. There must be a someone we can send to help.”

“Um,” Chuck said. “I have an idea.” He paused long enough to realize they expected him to continue without prompting. “We could use the Dirt Devils.”

The rest of the group exchanged puzzled glances. Teyla smiled encouragingly at Chuck and said, “Is this some sort of elite strike force? I don’t believe Iyuhv heard of the Dirt Devils before.”

Chuck cleared his throat and said, “Well, they’re sort of a team of specialists?”

Frowning, Weir crossed her arms and said, “So why am I not familiar with this ‘team of specialists,’ either, Chuck?”

With a heavy sigh, he said, “That’s what they like to call themselves. You would know them as, the, uh…” He mumbled something unintelligible.

“Say again, son?” Beckett said. “I couldn’t quite–”

“I said the custodial staff, okay?” Chuck said loudly, his face turning red again. “And yeah, I know that sounds silly, but you know what? Just because some work isn’t life-or-death doesn’t make it less important. And the people doing those jobs are as competent, and bright, and dedicated as anyone else in this expedition. It’s not fair to write them off as useless in a crisis.”

“Slow down,” Weir said. “Nobody’s even suggested such a thing. If you think the uh, the…”

“Dirt Devils.”

“If you think they are capable of helping us rescue the biologists, I don’t see that we have many other options.”

“This is insane,” Radek said. “Anyone we send in needs advanced knowledge of birds and avian behavior, and all of those experts are currently trapped in a bathroom. I do not care how tough this ‘elite team’ of janitors may be, they are unlikely to have that background.”

With a lifted eyebrow, Weir cocked her head and shot Radek a terrifyingly shrewd look. “You use to keep pigeons back on Earth, didn’t you, Dr. Zelenka?”

Radek stared at her with wide eyes. He remembered the day he’d told her about his pigeons. Her face had taken on an expression he often saw when he mentioned his hobby to others, the one that said they really intended to forget the whole thing as soon as they escaped the conversation. He really wished she’d followed through on that intention now.

“Hey, pigeons are birds!” Chuck said. “This is perfect, Doc. You can lead the Dirt Devils in to rescue the biology team.”

“It’ll be just like an off-world mission,” Ronon said, smirking.

“Only on-world,” Chuck added.

Weir patted Radek’s shoulder with a smile and said to Chuck, “Have the Dirt Devils assemble in the gate room immediately.”

Radek folded his arms on the console and rested his head upon them. “Somebody please shoot me in the face.”

“English, Radek,” the group said together.


	18. It's Virtually Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rodney try to balance bitter bickering with keeping Bill Lee convinced that he's a hologram and not a manifested figment of Rodney's imagination. Have you ever tried to do that? Totally a piece of cake. I have no idea why they have so much trouble with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people keep giving me kudos despite a complete lack of new material. I never knew the world contained that many blind optimists. Anyway, sorry. Here you go.

In his short life as an experimental emergency science hologram, Dr. Bill Lee had learned a number of surprising things. The first was that the real-life capabilities of hologram technology were far beyond even the prognostications offered by  _ Star Trek _ . After all, when had  _ Voyager _ ’s “The Doctor” ever come close to wetting his pants? Never, that’s when.

And that guy had never even gotten his own name, while Bill had not only first and last, but an honorific. Who says nice guys finish last? He smiled to himself.

Of course, if there truly was a  _ real _ Dr. Lee, then Bill supposed the honorific actually belonged to him, along with the rest of the name. Bill felt his smile fade away. His provenance still wasn’t clear, as Dr. McKay had never answered the question about whether there was a real Lee. Then again, the man called Kolya was threatening to kill Dr. McKay at the time. Or threatening to  _ not _ kill him, or to kill him a different way than they’d agreed, or… something.

Bill didn’t understand any of it. It was probably a good thing he was a hologram, actually. Being a flesh-and-blood person seemed awfully complicated. Still, it would be nice to know something about his background.

“Just tell me which way!” Colonel Sheppard hissed impatiently. They were standing at the intersection of two typically beautiful corridors. Bill really liked the way Atlantis looked, even if there did seem to be a lot of wasted space and an emphasis of form over function.

“I  _ would _ tell you which way, if the display would stabilize,” McKay groused, brandishing the life-signs detector at the colonel before turning an irritated look at Bill. “Lee, what the hell are you thinking about, anyway?”

“Oh, I was just remembering that you never told me whether I’m a copy,” Bill said eagerly. “I mean, am I the only me, or just a copy of me?”

“What? Look, maybe I didn’t make it clear that you keeping your mind on the bad guys is the only thing keeping them from catching and executing us.”

“Right, sorry,” Bill said, chastened. He dutifully pictured Major Lorne, the man called Kolya, and the six Marines who were hunting Dr. McKay, and thought about where they might be right now. McKay’s tense expression eased slightly as he watched the LSD display.

“Where are they?” the colonel demanded.

“Well, they haven’t closed the gap, but they’re keeping pace with us,” McKay said, pointing down one of the corridors. “We should head that way.”

Sheppard nodded. “Move.” The three of them hurried down the hallway. 

“So, um,” Bill said, after a decent interval, “which is it, Dr. McKay?”

“Which is what?”

“Well, I mean, is there a flesh-and-blood Bill Lee that you modeled me after? Or did you design me from scratch? Because if it  _ was _ from scratch, I’m not sure why I had to be so short. And so bald.”

Colonel Sheppard sighed impatiently–actually, that’s kind of how he seemed to do everything–and Dr. McKay rolled his eyes. “Seriously? How many times do I have to reiterate–”

“I’m keeping the bad guys in my thoughts, honest,” Bill said quickly. “I  _ can _ multitask, you know. I mean, of  _ course _ you know. You created me.”

“And we’re all very grateful for that,” Sheppard muttered, voice dripping sarcasm.

Bill frowned darkly, but then said in astonishment, “Wow! I think I just felt angry at your insult. That’s quite an achievement, Dr. McKay. But wait–why would you give a hologram the ability to feel anger?” As Sheppard opened his mouth, no doubt to say something impatient, Bill rushed on. “I’m sure you had a good reason. Like, maybe I’m supposed to use strategic displays of bad temper to encourage users to state their requests concisely and with clarity?”

“I, um. Sure,” McKay answered, his eyes sliding back to the LSD quickly. He seemed really uncomfortable.

“Because it does seem as though the judicious use of anger can be a useful tool for guiding the behavior of others.”

“I certainly find it useful,” McKay said absently.

“You know,” Sheppard said, “I don’t remember the real guy being this much of a pain in the ass.”

Ignoring the flash of irritation– _ so cool! _ –that this remark provoked, Bill said, “So there  _ is _ a real me? Back at the SGC?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” McKay said irritably. “There’s a real Dr. Lee at the SGC and I used him as the model for making you. Can we please concentrate on staying alive now?”

“Oh, sure,” Bill said happily. “Thank you.”

About thirty seconds later, it occurred to him to ask, “So do we have a plan? Because it sort of seems like we’re just wandering around.”

Sheppard rounded on him. “For the love of God, if you don’t shut up–” 

“He does have a point,” McKay said, giving Bill a warm sense of justification. “We need to come up with an actual strategy. So far, it’s just been, step one: run from bad guys, step two: keep running, step three: run some more...”

“Well, I am willing to entertain suggestions!”

“Everyone here with a  _ military _ background, raise your hand,” McKay said.

“Everyone whose  _ own imagination _ created this stupid crisis, raise your hand.”

“Everyone who didn’t hesitate to make a military decision to kill his friend and top scientist, raise–”

“Everyone who’s not out of that particular woods yet–”

“I knew it!” McKay cried, stabbing a finger at the colonel. “You’re just itching to bring Operation Murder McKay to a successful conclusion.”

“For the last time, I was protecting the city. It wasn’t personal!”

“I,  _ personally, _ would have been dead.”

“You  _ could _ stop making that outcome seem so attractive.”

“Guys! Knock it off!” Bill only realized he was bellowing when both men gaped in his direction. Score one for the judicious use of anger. Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice but continued sternly. “Less arguing, more strategizing. I don’t think I can hold them off forever.”

Sheppard rubbed his face with one hand and made a visible effort to calm down. He  turned back to McKay. “Okay, look, Rodney. I made what I thought was the right decision at the time. Probably it wasn’t.  _ Obviously _ it wasn’t. I’m clearly… I don’t know, not myself these days, okay? Anyway, I’m really sorr–”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, thanks,” Dr. McKay said distractedly, waving a dismissive hand and fixing Bill with a glare. “What did you mean, you can’t hold them off forever?” He looked at the LSD. “They’ve turned away! They’re no longer on an intercept course with us.”

“Right, but I don’t think it will last indefinitely,” Bill warned. To his surprise, McKay goggled at him briefly before performing a meme-worthy facepalm, while Sheppard seemed to engage in an accelerated slow burn.

“If you could do that,” the colonel said in a measured, terrifying tone, “why didn’t you say so? Better yet, why didn’t you just do it to begin with?”

“I… oh. Yeah, I probably should have, huh? But I don’t think I knew I could do that. I’m not sure even now how I did it.”

Bill and Sheppard looked at McKay. “Well, don’t look at me,” he said. “I never thought he had the ability to influence their course. Although I’m certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s buying us time. Who cares how he’s doing it?”

Sheppard looked ready to argue, but then accepted McKay’s reasoning and shrugged off his anger. He instructed Bill, “Don’t overdo it. Let them have the steering wheel for the most part. Whenever they get within, say, twenty minutes of catching up to us, then subtly direct them off-course.”

“Okay, colonel.”

“This is great,” McKay said with a grin, looking genuinely pleased for the first time since they left the lab. “Now that we have some breathing room, I can come up with a plan to fix all of this. Let’s go. I have some ideas.”

Sheppard moved to McKay’s side and the two of them led the way. Bill followed, keeping a part of his mind on their stalkers and another, larger part on just pondering exactly how he was able to influence their progress. Advanced technology or not, there was no logical explanation for this, unless Lorne and his party were also holograms. 

He started to ask Dr. McKay about it, but hesitated. If the people hunting them were holograms, this whole scenario might be some kind of system test, in which case McKay probably wouldn’t admit it. He might even decide that Bill’s awareness required a reboot,  or worse, a wipe of Bill’s memory. 

Then again, maybe McKay himself wasn’t entirely trustworthy. What if he and Sheppard were holograms, too? Experimentally, Bill thought a variety of different commands at Colonel Sheppard.  _ Stumble. Slap yourself. Giggle like a little girl. _

Nothing. Well, that was disappointing.

But whatever was going on, Bill decided to pay close attention to everything his companions said and did from now on.


	19. Enter the Dirt Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radek and some janitors go on a rescue mission. Yeah, I know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL finish this story. I might do so in a glacial manner, but hey. Winter is coming.

“Please slow down,” Radek said, not _quite_ yelling, “and stop swinging the mop around like girl in marching band dance corps.”

Twenty minutes into his journey to find McKay’s Ubergeese, and he’d already been addressed as “Dr. Slenka,” regaled with complaints about the lack of weaponry they’d been granted, and struck in the face with a dirty mop. Radek dearly hoped that Rodney came through this ordeal alive and intact, so that Radek himself had the opportunity to render him otherwise.

“I’m trying to limber up,” the mop-wielder, a squat young man with close-cropped sandy hair, said. “We’re gonna have to MacGyver this op, since you guys sent us out to apprehend a bunch of dangerous animals without any proper gear.”

“Annikov, shut up about the gear, already.” The tall auburn-haired woman, Sandusky, was apparently the leader of this little gang of janitors informally known as the Dirt Devils. “We’re rounding up some geese, not attacking a terrorist cell. We surely don’t need weapons for that.”

Sandusky shot Radek a look as she said that. He was careful to appear not to notice.

“Maybe not,” Annikov said in a tone of voice that implied absolutely no agreement whatever, “but if they’re not dangerous, why do they have a group of scientists trapped? Why do they need us to rescue them, if the geese are so harmless?”

“If the geese were dangerous,” Sandusky said, sounding a little bored with the conversation, “why would they send a custodial crew instead of a team of Marines?”

Annikov sighed, clearly outmaneuvered and frustrated. “I don’t know. This is just a weird assignment, is all. And Slenka won’t tell us nothing!”

“It’s _Doctor_ Ze-len-ka,” Sandusky said firmly. “Three syllables. That’s right at your limit, Annikov, so you should be able to handle it.”

Radek hid the urge to snicker with a delicate cough behind his hand. To Sandusky, he said apologetically, “Ordinarily, we would consider this situation a matter for security, but our Marines are occupied with some unusual issues today.”

“Yeah, that Kolya guy is here, I heard.” She glanced at Radek’s face and laughed good-naturedly. “I hope you didn’t think it was a secret, Dr. Zelenka. There’s been an awful lot of ‘unusual issues’ in the city lately. Everybody’s talking.”

An emphatic snort announced the viewpoint of the large woman pushing the heavy janitorial cart on the other side of Sandusky. She’d introduced herself to Radek simply as Jimenez. “Unusual, my ass. Things have gotten positively fucknuts around here. You got any insights into why that is, doc?”

“I’m sure he does,” Sandusky intervened, “and if he was free to talk about it, he would’ve already told us. Look, guys” – Sandusky stopped, and her cohorts followed suit – “we’ve been asked to do a job here. If it was beyond our skillset, they wouldn’t be asking. Isn’t that right, Dr. Z?”

Very carefully not swallowing, Radek nodded and murmured, “Of course.”

Rodney would pay for this.

Sandusky said, “See?” and started walking again, leading them all to resume. “And really, is it so surprising that we’d get this gig? Remember, when there’s a really tough mess to clean up, who do they always call?”

“The Dirt Devils!” Jimenez and Annikov responded. Annikov held up a hand, and Jimenez returned a surprisingly spirited high five.

“That’s right,” Sandusky continued, clearly launching into a favorite and oft-repeated pep talk. “‘Cause they know we have the training, and the toughness, and most importantly–”

“The creativity!” Annikov said, right on cue.

“– to solve any kind of problem we might encounter. Without any fuss, without any whining, and without crying for additional resources. We don’t just make do with what we have…”

“We make what we have do what we need!” Annikov clearly found great joy in supplying the expected interjections in Sandusky’s speech. Radek felt a faint pang of envy for a man who could be satisfied by such simple pleasures.

“Damn straight. So let’s go get us some geese!”

“Technically,” Radek said, “our goal is to rescue the biology team. I do not expect you three to try to capture these birds.”

“Duly noted, Doctor.” From her breezy tone, Radek suspected that Sandusky was humoring him. Her post-pep talk mind couldn’t conceive of the vaunted Dirt Devils being unable to cope with a few measly geese. He was debating how he could deflate this notion without contradicting his earlier implication that the geese weren’t dangerous when Jimenez said, “You guys hear that?”

They all stopped moving. In the distance, Radek heard the distinct vocalizations of geese.

“Sounds like a lot of ‘em,” Annikov said. “Hey, what’s that thing?”

“A life signs detector,” Radek said absently, studying the screen. He pointed in the direction of the goose-sounds. “There are a lot of signals coming from the vicinity of the biology team’s last reported location. Dr. Svensen radioed that she and her team had fled to a set of quarters about fifty meters from where we are standing. Some of the geese managed to follow them inside, so the team were forced into the bathroom.”

He could feel the weight of the three of them not expressing opinions about an elite team of biologists fleeing from geese. He cleared his throat. “Before we proceed, I would like to explain tha–”

“You guys hear that?” Jimenez said again.

“Hear what?” Sandusky asked.

“Exactly.”

“Hey,” Annikov said, “they got quiet.”

The hairs on the back of Radek’s neck stood up as he realized that he could no longer hear the geese. _“Do prdele!”_ he swore, glancing down at the life signs detector just in time to see that a number of dots had moved. “Hurry, we must–”

The air was suddenly full of sound as geese poured into the corridor from around the corner and charged the little group of humans. Radek, who had spent a great deal of time around birds, had never heard anything quite like this. The geese - who seemed even larger than he remembered from the previous sighting - were shrieking what was clearly an avian battle cry as they came for him and his companions, all screeching voices and lunging beaks and monstrous flapping wings.

They were strong! So horribly strong, more like creatures to be found in some dark alien cave than from the imagination of a brilliant, arrogant scientist forever just on the threshold of crippling insecurity. Radek had a moment of penetrating, overwhelming empathy as he understood, for the first time, the full scope of his colleague’s internal torment.

The empathy evaporated when the geese knocked his feet out from under him and slammed him to the floor, pecking and biting wherever their beaks could land. Twisting and flailing, he was unable to produce more than grunts and whimpers, but in his mind, Radek was screaming all manner of dire threats and epithets directed at Dr. Rodney McKay.

And now, the wretched beasts were _speaking,_ shouting actual _words_ as they tried to devour him. Was there no end to the horrors that Rodney would inflict upon him?

“Doc, come on!” they said. “Up! You gotta get up!”

Radek laughed weakly. As if he would fall for that.

There was a thud and a squawk, followed by more thudding and squawking, and then something was lifting his shoulders and dragging him. The infernal birds were carrying him off! He wailed and tried to pull away.

“Stop that shit!” the voice yelled into his ear, sounding suspiciously human. The meaty appendage that encircled his chest and heaved him up was most decidedly not covered in feathers.

Widening his focus beyond his immediate and direct experience, Radek noted that Annikov was making deft use of the mop to pummel and fend off McKay’s geese. All that limbering up had apparently paid off.

“Stand clear!” Sandusky moved into Radek’s view, brandishing a can of some sort of aerosol cleanser and a cigarette lighter. A stream of flame jetted from the nozzle, prompting the geese to shrink back a bit. After two more flame-jets, Sandusky bellowed, “Put him on the cart and move!”

Radek wondered who she was talking about until he was hauled onto the janitorial cart. Lying awkwardly with his torso twisted and legs splayed, he tried to struggle back to his feet, but Jimenez had already begun running, pushing the cart at an alarming pace.

“Wait!” Radek cried. “We can’t! I need–”

“Hang on, doc!” Jimenez yelled. The cart jerked to the left, and Radek was forced to clutch a handle protruding from the attached mop bucket to keep himself from rolling off. He felt something jolt in his lower back as the lower half of his body tried to continue the rolling motion.

Weeks of chiropractic was in his future, he was sure of it. Should he prove to actually _have_ a future, of course.

The harrowing ride seemed to go on and on, culminating in the cart being thrust into a transporter, hitting the back wall and dumping the hapless scientist to the floor. His back. It would never be the same.

Groaning, Radek slowly untwisted himself on the floor just in time to get a faceful of Annikov’s mop as the others piled into the transporter. Sandusky slapped the controls to shut the door before turning to look over the crew. “Everyone okay?”

“Fine,” Annikov and Jimenez said in near-unison. Jimenez added, “I think the doc’s gonna need some first aid. The geese did a real number on him.”

“I can see that,” Sandusky said. “How about it, Doc? Any injuries other than what we can see?”

Radek sat up and wiped a hand over a tickling sensation on his cheek. His palm came away smeared with a bit of blood. The back of his hand and his wrist showed evidence of the goose attack. He assumed he was covered in tiny cuts and bruises. “I’ll be fine. I was just a bit dazed.”

“Holy shit,” Annikov yelled, too loudly for the confines of the transporter, “can you believe those things? All this time I been hearing stories about the freaky animals in the Pegasus galaxy, and now I finally get to experience it myself!”

The man sounded jubilant.

“What’s fucking weird is,” Jimenez said, “they look just like Canadian geese, only gigantic.”

“Yeah, that’s true," Annikov said, grinning with excitement. "It’s like the geese I used to see on this pond where I grew up, only on steroids. The geese on steroids, not me. Or the pond.”

Sandusky was standing with her arms folded. Radek realized she was staring at him. Wisps of her dark red hair had escaped her previously neat ponytail. Under the intensity of her gaze, he began to feel guilty, and he wasn’t even sure why.

She knelt down and looked him square in the face. “Doctor Zelenka, I think it’s time you told us exactly what we’re dealing with here.”

Oh, yes, that was why.

Rodney would pay for this.


End file.
